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IV m^i u 1718 



THE L.IFE 

OP 
THE 

SETTLER OF PENNSYLVANIA, 



FOUNDER OF PHILADELPHIA, AND ONE OF THE FIRST LAWGIVERS 
IN THE COLONIES, NOW UNITED STATES, IN 16S2. 

CONTAINING ALSO, 

HIS CELEBRATED TREATY WITH THE INDIANS HIS PURCHASE OK 

THEIR COUNTRY VALUABLE ANECDOTES OF ADMIRAL PENN ALSO 

OF KING CHARLES II., KING JAMES II., KING WILLIAM, AND QUEEIf 
ANNE, IN WHOSE REIGNS WILLIAM PENN LIVED CURIOUS CIRCUM- 
STANCES THAT LED HIM TO BECOME A QUAKER WITH A VIEW OF 

THE ADMIRABLE TRAITS IN THE CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE 
CALLED FRIENDS OR QUAKERS, WHO HAVE DONE SO MUCH TO 
MELIORATE THE CONDITION OF SUFFERING HUMANITY. 



BY M. li. WEEMS, 

Author of the Life of Washington, ice. 



Character of William Penn, by Montesquieu. 
"William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made PEACE hii 

firincipjl aim, as the latter did WAR: yet they resemble one another in the singu- 
ar way of living to which tiiey reduced their people — in the astonishing ascendant 
tiiey gained over freemen ; and in the strong passions which they subdued." 
Charactrr of William Penn, by Edmund Burke. 
" Wlliam Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world. 
Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men whose virtues and generosity have 
contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the Freedom and Happiness of 
ntankixd; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and limes UR- 
Jcnown, to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives." 



PUBLISHED BY URIAH HUNT, No. 101 MARKET ST., 

JLND SOLD BY TUB BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY THROUGHOCT THE UNITED 8TATB*. 
Stereotyped Vy L. Jol-iisotu 



183G. 



f\ 






Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to wit, 

BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty-seventh day of July, in the fifty- 
fourth year of the Independence of the United States of America, A. D. 18-2i), 
URIAH HUNT, of the said District, has deposited in this office the title of a book, 
the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in the words following, to wit: 

" The Life of William Penn, the settler of Pennsylvania, the founder of Phila- 
delphia, and one of the tirst Law-givers in Ihe Colonies, now United States, in 1682. 
Containing also his celebrated treaty with the Indians — his purchase of their coun- 
try — Valuable anecdotes of Admiral Penn— also of King Charles II., King James 
II., King William, and dueen Anne, in whose reigns William Penn lived — Curious 
circumstances that led him to become a Quaker — with a view of the admirable 
raits in the character of the people called Friends or Quakers, who have done so 
much to meliorate the condition of suffering humanity. By M. L. Weems, author 
of the Life of Washington, &c." 

Character of William Penn, hy Montesquieu. 

"William Penn is a real Lycurgus. And though the former made peace his prin- 
cipal aim, as the latter did war: yet they resemble one another in the singular way 
of living to which they reduced their people — in the astonishing ascendant they 
gained over freemen ; and in the strong passions which they subdued." 
Character of William Penn, by Edmund Burke. 

"William Penn, as a legislator, deserves immortal thanks from the whole world. 
'Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men whoso virtues and generosity have 
contributed to the peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happiness of man- 
kind ; and who have preferred the interest of a remote posterity and limes unknown, 
to their own fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own lives." 

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled "An Act 
for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, 
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned ;" 
and also to an Act, entitled, " An Act Supplementary to an Act, entitled, ' An Act for 
the encouragement of learning, by securmg the copies of maps, charts, and books, 
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned,' 
and extending the benetits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching, 
historical and other prhits." 

D. CALDWELL, 
Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



THE LIFE 



OF 



^VIIililAM FENN, 



CHAPTER I. 

If, by your ancestors, yourself you rate; 

Count me those only who were good and great. 

If ever a son of Adam and of Eve had cause to 
glory in the flesh, that son was honest, broad-brimm'd 
William Penn. " A generation there is," says Solo- 
mon, " O how they can lift up their eyebrows, and 
how they can roll their eyes ;" swelling and strutting 
like the star-taiPd birds of the dunghill, because their 
fathers before them were knights or baronets ! though 
all beyond were shoe-blacks or rat-catchers. But not 
so the noble founder of Pennsylvania. He was oi the 
" well born,'''' in the worthiest sense of the word. For 
fifteen generations^ the best and bravest blood in Eng- 
land had flowed in the veins of his family, unstained 
by a single act that history should blush to record. 
No scoundrel sycophants were made drunk at their 
tables, while the poor tenant's children cried for 
bread ; nor the needy hireling pined for his pay, while 
their proud drawing-rooms were filled with costly car- 
pets and sideboards. No unsuspecting stranger, after 
sharing their splendid hospitalities, was fleeced of his 
purse by their gambling arts, and then turned out of 
doors, to curse the polished robbers. No ! Such stains 
A 2 



6 THE LIFE OF 

of pride and villany were never known to sully the 
Penn coat of arms. For, on the contrary, the Hood- 
tide of wealth, won by their high-toned virtues, was 
constantly turned into such active channels of private 
and public usefulness, that they were the boast and 
blessing of all the country. And to this day, often, as 
the traveller through Buckinghamshire, charmed with 
the stately mansions, shining amidst clovered meadows 
and fields of golden grain, inquires, ^'-what lovely 
farms are these F''^ the honest rustic, with joy bright- 
ening on his sun-burnt face, replies, " why, sir, this 
is Fenn's Dale ! or Penn's House ! that, is Penn's 
Wood ! or Penn's Land ! 

As like generally begets like ; and the ring-dove that 
saddens the grove with his cooings, is never sprung 
from the fire-ey'd falcon : so many have supposed that 
our gentle William Penn must have descended from a 
long succession of Quaker ancestors. But this is al- 
together a mistake ; for he was the first of that sect 
ever heard of in his numerous family. Indeed, so far 
from having been a meekly looking friend, his father 
was a fierce iron-faced admiral in the British navy : 
and not as in these halcyon days neither, when British 
captains, like ladies' lap-dogs, can sleep on velvet 
cushions, and move about in clouds of sweet-scented 
bergamot and lavender. But he was a sea captain in 
the bloody days of Van Tromp, and the Duke of York, 
when the great rival republics of England and Hol- 
land were rushing forth, in all their thunders and light- 
nings, striving for the rule of the watery world. And 
it is but justice to record of him that, so many were 
the proofs which he had given of an extraordinary va- 
lour and skill, he was appointed to the command of a 
man of war, at the green age of twenty-one. And he 
continued gallantly fighting, and rapidly rising, till after 
passing all the degrees of admiralship, such as rear- 
admiral, vice-admiral, admiral of the blue, admiral of 
.the red, &c. he had the highest honour of all, conferred 



WILLIAM PENN. T 

on him ; the honour to be next in command to the 
brave Duke of York in the Dutch war of 1665. And 
the triumph of the British flag in the great and terrible 
sea-fight in that year was so largely due, under God, 
to his courage and seamanship, that he was created a 
knight; aiid was always received at court with the 
utmost cordiality. Though then but in the middle 
of his days, (45) yet his constitution was so wrecked 
by hard services, that he left the sea, and set him- 
self in good earnest, to prepare for his last great voy- 
age — to heaven. And it is generally thought that 
he is safely moored there too : for he was a man, 
in many respects, of a noble heart : and, for a sailor, 
uncommonly devout ; as would appear, among many 
other still better proofs, from the following epitaph, 
written by himself, on one of his unfortunate sailors, 
who, drowned with many others on the coast of Deal, 
was picked up and buried in the church-yard near that 
place : — 

The boist'rous winds and raging seas, 

Have tost me to and fro ; 
But spite of these, by God's decrees, 

I harbour here below — - 

Where safe at anchor I do ride 

With many of our fleet ; 
In hope one day, again to weigh, 

Great Admiral Christ to meet. 

From what has been said of him, most of my read- 
ers are, I suppose, so well pleased with our honest 
admiral as to be ready to pray that, if ever he had a 
son, that son proved to him a Barnabas, a " son of 
consolation." 

Well, glory to him whose goodness often prepares 
the richest answer to prayer, even before it is formed 
in the generous breast ! 

And still greater glory to him who has made us ca- 
pable of that amiable philanthropy whereby we can 



-8 THE LIFE OP 

€end back our sympathies to the generations that are 
past, and take a hvely interest in the joys of those 
who hved long before our day. By virtue of this 'tis 
pleasing to learn of our good admiral that he mar- 
ried — married early — and begat a son : but not in 
his own image. For, while the father lived only to 
represent the miseries of that iron age spoken of by 
the prophet, when wretched men, blinded by their 
passions, could rush into bloody fight for filthij hicre, 
the son lived to give some blessed signal of that golden 
age to come, when filled with ail the sweetness of di- 
vine love, men should deem it ^'- glory to suffer the 
spoiling of their goods for conscience sake.'''' This child 
of honour was born to the admiral in the year 1644, 

When the incarnate God descended on the earth, the 
temples of horrid war were shut that selfsame year; and 
silver-tongued angels were heard to chaunt their an- 
thems of " Glory to God for coining in the flesh to re- 
store the golden age of peace and good will anions: 
mcn.^'' It is not pretended that any testimonials of 
this high character were given at the birth of this true 
disciple of the Benevolent Saviour : but it appears, 
from the unanimous testimony of his historians, that the 
dove-like spirit of meekness descended upon him even 
in the cradle. 

And here I cannot but relate an anecdote of little 
William^ which v/iil serve to show how soon the ideas 
of moral rigiit, if not innate, may be planted in our na- 
ture. Ac-cording to that famous historian, Xenophon, 
the schoolmasters among the ancient Persians, took 
much less pains to teach their children the knowledge 
of letters than to inspire them with the love of Justice; 
because, in their opinion, "Honest deahng among men 
is far more important to happiness than all human 
learning." They neglected no opportunity to incul- 
cate this on the youthful mi&d. U, for example, they 
saw a little man with a big coat, and a l,>ig man with 
II little coat, they Vv'ould straight CAl to catechising the 



WILLIAM PENN. 9 

child as to what ought to be done in that case. If the 
child said, exchange the coats ; they answered no : that 
might be convenience, but not justice. For if the 
little man, by his virtues, had got himself a big coat, 
would it be justice to take it away from him and give 
it to a big man whose idleness had brought him to 
rags ? 

That the Admiral had taken pains to educate his 
son in this sublime style, may, I think, very fairly be 
inferred from the following story of little William 
when only seven years old. Among his father's ten- 
ants was a poor man named Thomas Pearce, just such 
an honest good natured soul as every body loves. The 
Penn family set great store by him, and especially 
little William, whom honest Thomas had so often car- 
ried in his arms, and returning from the Fair, had 
brought him many a cake and apple. On some sud- 
den emergence, the Admiral had got Tom with his 
cart to assist him. After looking, with an air of much 
sympathy on the poor man, where he wrought till the 
sweat in big drops trickled down his pallid face, little 
William came to the Admiral, and said ^'•father anH 
you going to pay poor Tom Pearce for working for 
you so .^" 

What makes you ask that, William, replied the Ad- 
miral. 

Why, because, father, I think you ought to pay him. 

Why so, my son ? 

Why, because, father, I donH see why he should work 
so hard for you for nothing. 

Well, I dare say, William, I shall pay him. 

But, father, if you don't pay him money, Vll tell you 
what you ought to do. 

What, my son ? 

Why, father, when poor Tom comes to want any loork 
done, you shoidd send your wagon to help him. 

My cart, you mean, William, for you see I have only 
his cart. 



10 THE LIFE OF 

Yes, father, hut your 7vagon is not so much bigger 
■than his cart as you arc richer than poor Tom.'^'' 

God bless my son, cried the Admiral, embracing him, 
I hope you'll be a brave, honest-iiearted English- 
jviAN, as long as you live," 

From a child, William was given to be sedate and 
thoughtful, which contributed much towards his im- 
provement of those many providences, such as sick- 
ness, whether of himself or his parents, death of rela- 
tions, frightful dreams, thunder-gusts, and so on — 
which, like "/me on line, and precept on precept,''"' are 
meant of God to lead even children to wisdom. His 
mother, of whom he was doatingly fond, often seized 
such providences to make good impressions on his 
mind. And these impressions were still more deep- 
ened by the dismal scenes which his father, sitting 
by the family fire-side, would often describe, when 
maddening nations "^o dozen in ships on the mighty 
waters,^'' to mix in bloody fight, among roaring winds 
and waves. Sometimes he would tell of the great 
ships of w^ar — how, pierced by a thousand bullets in 
the dreadful fight, they suddenly disappear with all their 
shrieking crews, going down swift into their watery 
graves, while the dark mountain billows, closing over 
their hapless heads, leave no sign that there any ship 
had ever sailed before. At other times he would paint 
the hostile navies, in close and furious combat, hid in 
clouds of smoke and flame, when, all at once, their 
magazines taking fire, they blow up with the sound of 
a thousand thunders, while hundreds of ill-fated sea- 
men, torn limb from limb, by the horrid blast, are 
thrown miles into the air, nor ttiey nor ships ever seen 
again. 

The earnestness with which little William would 
listen, and his changeful looks, often bathed in tcars^ 
strongly bespoke his kindred feelings, and how truly 
he mourned the wretched victims of war. But among 
the many things which the Admiral would tell, to im« 



WILLIAM PEiVN. tt 

prove the heart of his son, the following seems well 
worthy of remennbrance, as it marks that constantly 
superintending providence which directs the affairs of 
men. 

On board of the Admiral's ship was a young officer 
of the name of Fenton, the only son of his mother, and 
she a widow. Fenton was giddy and dissipated in a 
high degree, which cost his mother many a tear. One 
day, as drowned in sorrow, she took leave of him 
going on ship-board to fight the enemy, she repeated 
all her former good advice, giving him, at the same 
time, a beautiful little Bible, which she put into a side 
pocket made by her own hands, over his left breast. 
The two fleets met, and a most bloody conflict ensued. 
The ships grappled each other ; and the eager crews,, 
quitting their cannon, fought hand to hand, with pistols 
and cutlasses, as on dry ground. In the mortal fray, 
the decks all covered with the dying and the dead, 
Fenton was attacked by a stout Dutchman, who, pre- 
senting his pistol to his heart, drew the trigger. The 
ball struck. Feeding the shock, Fenton concluded he 
was mortally wounded, but being naturally brave, he 
continued to fight on with great fury, though not with- 
out secretly wondering that he did not fall. On the 
ceasing of the battle, which terminated in favour of 
the British, he began to search for his wound. But 
not a scratch could he find, nor even a drop of blood.. 
This, no doubt, was great good news to him who had 
given himself up for dead. He then thought of his 
Bible, and drawing it from his side pocket, found it 
miserably torn by the ball, which, but for that strange 
stop, would have been buried in his heart. The 
thoughts of heaven and of his mother rushed on his 
mind. And, for the first tiii>e in his life, he fell on 
his knees and adored a God. Carefully opening his 
Bible, he found that the ball, after penetrating one half 
of the sacred volume, had stopped exactly at that fa 
mous verse — " Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth^ 



12 THE LIFE OF 

and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth ; 
and walk in the ways of thy heart and in the sight of 
thine eyes ; but know thou, that for all these things 
God shall bring thee into judgment l" Fenton was so 
struck with this, as a call from heaven, that he imme- 
diately altered his life ; and from a worthless reprobate, 
became a Good Christian — that is, A Real Gen- 
tleman. 

CHAPTER II. 

As a man must ask his wifc^ whether he is to be ^ 
rich man or a beggar ; so, a child must ask his mother^ 
whether he is to be a wise man or a fool, a saint or a 
demon for ever. It was in her warm bowels that he 
first received his " substance^ yet being imperfect ;" and 
his first pulse of life from her throbbing heart. It was 
in her fond arms that he found his dearest cradle, and 
his sweetest pillow on her snowy orbs. There were the 
first eager drawings of his thirsty lips ; and there the 
wanton pattings of his fingers, as filled with the fra- 
grant nectar and gladdened through all his frame, he 
fell back on her arms, and laughed and jumped and 
crowed to her strong kissings and chirpings. And still 
with the rolling years, this tender attachment to his 
mother continued, " growing with his growth, and 
strengthening with his strength," because her banners 
over him M^ere love. Is he frightened? he runs to 
her for safety. Is he aggrieved? he carries all hig 
complaints to her dear bosom. And while his father, 
that hardier parent, can turn away from him and sleep 
and snore insensible to his moans, he feels his mother's 
arms still pressing him closer and closer to her heart ; 
or hears her tender sighs, as, bathing him with tears, 
she kisses his feverish lips, and answers him groan for 
groan. 



WILLIAM PENN. 13 

O happy the child, whose mother, after thus winning; 
his love, seeks to improve it as a ladder, whereby he- 
may ascend to Heaven on the pleasant steps of early 
piety and virtue. This was the favoured lot of young; 
William Penn. From concurrent testimony of all his- 
torians of that day, his mother was a daughter of wis- 
dom. Far different from the credulous millioTi, who, 
how often soever deceived by the world, will yet go> 
on, like passionate lovers, to woo and woo again the 
same perfidious mistress. And though sent home cha- 
grined and sad from many a joyless ball and rout, will 
still hope better things from some subsequent adven- 
ture. — Jli/e ! that zvill do — another suit of diamonds and 
of silks ! — A new and richer coach and still moreflam-^ 
ing harness.'''' Thus fond of being led on, like children^ 
by the butterfly attractions of hope. Not so the wiser 
Mrs. Penn. Disappointments served but to startle her 
into thought — and to spring suspicions of this world's 
vanity. As a delicate bird of the skies, accidentally^ 
lighting on a barren^ and defrauded of the nectarine 
food she seeks, instantly lifts the ivory beak and pea- 
sive eye of disappointment, then, spurning the inhospi' 
table soil, she spreads her golden plumes and with 
chirping joy springs towards her native element. Just 
so it was with the mother of young William Penn, 
Born for a better, she soon discovered that this world 
was not the place of lier rest. — " A land of shadows^ 
where hardly any thing is real but trouble ; and nothing 
certain but death." Instantly she gave her heart to 
God. She sought an equal happiness for her son. 
How could a mother of her sensibility, behold his 
soft flaxen locks and tender cheeks of youth without 
tears of solicitude that he might have the Lof.d for his 
God? 

Such were the views of Mrs. Penn with regard to 

her son. And correspondent was the education which 

she gave him. Oh how different from that which many 

an unfortunate child, now-a-days, receives from an ig- 

B 



14 THE LIFE OF 

norant mother, who at the first step leaves out God 
and Heaven with all the present and eternal advantages 
of piety ! '-''Come, make haste son,'*'' says she, " and learn 
your booksya.T\d you shall be a great man by and by^ 
iy learning his book, she meanSy at most, nothing be- 
yond a showy, college education, which, though it may 
increase his pride and arrogance, seldom adds any thing 
to his DIVINE and social affections^ which alone 
render young men amiable and happy.. And by being 
a great man she means only a great scholar ; a great 
physician; a great lawyer ; making a great deal of 
money ; building, great houses and so on — and after 
all, the dupe of his passions, and as miserable as 
pride, envy, hate, intemperance, and duelling can 
render him ! The mother of WilHam Penn did not 
thus direct his immortal affections to mortal goods, 
thereby filling up his life with feverish hopes and 
anguish fears ; and all for vanities which he might 
never win, or soon must lose for ever. Nor did she 
imitate that other class of mothers^ who,.if they do,, at 
times, show as though they would lead their children 
to piety, do not seem to understand wherein it consists^ 
Many a mother for example, just as her little son is^ 
dying for sleep, will pull him to her knee, and say 
" Come, darling, your bed is ready : now say yoixt 
prayers first. Well, darling,. who made you? 

Half asleep he drawls out — Gon. 

Well,, who redeemed you I 

Jesus Christ. 

Well, who sanctified you ? 

The Holy Ghost. 

What did God make you for ? 

To serve him. 

How are you to serve him I 

In spirit and truth. 

Well said, darling ! continues the mother; and 
praises him for a good boy ; though what the poor thing 
nas been saying about ^Redeemed'" — " Saiictified^''— 



WILLIAM PENN. 15 

* Holy Ghost,'''' and " Spirit and Truth,'''' he no more un- 
derstands than the parrot does when he prates poor Poll ! 
poor Poll ! Now what is this but a delusion of Satan lull- 
ing the silly mother into the fatal conceit that she is 
making a great Christian of her son, while she is actually 
keeping him in that ignorance of God which is the 
true cause of all vice and misery. But Mrs. Penn did 
not thus catechize her son on the mysteries of Revela- 
tion Tvhile as yet he was ignorant of the first truths of 
natural religion. No ! she well knew that before he 
could " come to God, he must believe that he zs" — ^and 
that before he could " love him with all his hearf'' he 
must " know him'''' to be that infinitely great and good 
being who alone is worthy of all love. It was her be- 
Hef that the works of God in the creation were pur- 
posely set off in such a style of grandeur and beauty, 
and convenience in order to startle all, even the young, 
into a sense of the perfections of the Creator. Hence, 
Paul argues that — ^" (he invisible things of God, even 
his eternal power and Godhead, are clearly seen by the 
things that are made, insomuch thai if men do not adore 
him as God, they are without excuse,'''' And hence it is 
that David so vehemently calls upon all men to ''•give 
thanks unto the Lord.'' Why ? why " because he is good 
and his mercy endurethfor ever,'''' — " To him who by wis- 
dom created the Heavens ^ for his goodness endurethfor 
evcr,'^ ^^ To him who made the sun to rule the day, 
and the moon and stars to rule the night ; for hi« good- 
ness endureth for ever" — "to him who stretched forth 
the green earth above the mighty waters ; for his good- 
ness endureth for ever" — " to him w^ho created man 
but a little lower than the angels -, for his goodness 
endureth for ever." And indeed it was in these his 
wondrous works, as in a glass, that the pious in all 
ages have employed themselves seeing and conversing 
with the Creator and singing him ceaseless hymns of 
praise. " We ought,''' says Socrates, " to sing a hymn 
of praise to God when we are ploughing the sweet scent- 



16 THE LIFE OF 

ed earth.'''' — " We ought to sing a hymn of praise to 
God., when we behold the leaving harvest ; or the or^ 
chards laden with delicious fruits.'''' — " We ought to sing 
a hymn of praise to God, when we look around upon the 
beauties of the fields or survey the glories of the hea- 
Dens.'''' So much for Socrates, David, and Paul, the 
three brightest ornaments of the three grand dispensa- 
tions of religion — Socrates for the Light of Nature, 
David for the Lav\^ by Moses, and Paul for the Gospel 
by Jesus Christ — all of whom clearly and harmonious- 
ly teach us that in educating a dear child for heaven, 
parents should never think of contenting themselves 
with'a few shallow notions and shibboleths, but should 
" dig deep^'' and lay an immovable foundation in the 
glorious being and attributes of God, as so easily and 
sweetly discoverable in his wonderful works around 
us. What parent then, or what child but must read 
with the liveliest pleasure and interest, the following 
curious dialogue between little William Penn and his 
mother ? 



CHAPTER IV. 

William, a fine, plump, fleshy boy, five or six years 
old, standing at his mother's knees, waiting for her to 
talk with him ; while she, after pressing him to her 
bosom, thus, in a sprightly voice, addresses him^^ 
" Well, William, I want to see if you can answer mo- 
ther one great question.'''' 

" Well, mother," replied William, his eyes sparkling, 
^' come tell me what it is.'^^ 

Well, William, said she, can you tell mother who 
imade you ? 

Yes, to be sure, mother, that I can, easy enough. God 
cdid make me, didn't he ? 



WILLIAM PENN. 17 

How do you know that, my son ? 

Heigh, mother, didn't you tell me so a matter of a 
hundred times and more? 

But suppose, William, I had not told you that God 
made you, do you think you could have found it out ? 

Here William paused — at length replied, indeed 
mother I don't know. 

Why not, my son, it seems very easy. 

Well then, mother, come tell me. 

Well now, my son, you see that stone that lies there 
at your feet, don't you ? 

Yes, mother, to be sure I do. And what of that 
stone, mother? 

That stone is somethings isn't it my son ? 

Yes, to be sure, it is something. 

But how do you know it is somethings William ? 

Heigh, mother, don't I see it ; and don't Jfeelit that 
it is something ; and a mighty hard and big and heav^ 
something too. — Here good reader, let us pause and 
note how soon the divine light of reason darts on the 
minds of children ! What master of the mathematics 
could give a better definition of matter , or as the text 
has it, of something, than little William here does 
*' Don''t I see it, mother," says he ; don't I feel it that 
it is something, and a mighty hard and big and heavi/ 
something too ! 

Well, but, William, continued his mother, how came 
it to be this something ? 

Indeed, mother, I don't know. 

Well, but does it not strike you, my son, that since 
it is something, it must have been made so, or, it must 
have made itself so ? William paused, as if quite at a 
loss, but at length said : I don't see, mother, how it 
could have made itself 

Why not, my son ? 

What, this stone made itself! replied he, like one 
suddenly struck, as at the idea of something quite ab- 
surd and ridiculous ; this stone made itself! why, dear 
B 2 



18 THE LIFE OF 

me, mother, 'tis such a dead thing ! it can't see ; it can't 
hear ; it can't stir. I don't see any seyise it had to make 
itself a stone, or any thing eJse. 

No indeed, William, nor can the greatest philoso- 
pher of them all see it neither: for in that case it must 
have had a great deal o^ sense^ which I am sure it has 
not. Well, now, William, since it is plain that this 
stone did not make itself, who do you think could 
have made it ? 

Indeed, mother, I don't know, unless it was father. 
As he sails the great ships, perhaps he did make it. 
When he comes home we will ask him mother, won't 
we ? 

Oh no, said Mrs. Penn, shaking her head and smil- 
ing ; oh no, William, your father did not make it, my 
son ; nor could all the men in the world, put together, 
jxiake it, nor even a single grain of sand. 

William appeared much at a loss at this. But after 
some silence he went on again with his questions— 
*' Well then, mother, who did make that stone?" 

Why, my son, answered Mrs. Penn, since it is plain 
that it had no sense to make itself; and since all the 
men in the world put together could not have made 
it, it follows that it must have been made by some 
mighty one who had wisdom and power to make all 
things. 

Aye, that's God^ isn't it mother? 

Why yes, to be sure, my son, it is God. It is he 
made this stone, and all the stones, and all the trees, 
and all the cattle, and the birds, and the fishes, and all 
the people, and the mountains, and the skies, and every 
thing. 

And did not God m.ake me too^ mother, asked Wil- 
liam? 

Yes, to be sure he did, my son. 

But yet, mother, I'm your little boy, an't I ? 

Yes, that you are, William, and a dear little boy too, 
ii)Ut still God did make you for all that. Since all the 



WILLIAM PENN. 19 

men in the world, as I said just now, could not make 
one grain of sand, then O how could I make such a 
beautiful little boy like you. 

And so don't you know any thmg, mother, how 1 
came to be made? 

No indeed, my son, no more than that stone there. 
When I married your dear father, I did not know any 
better than that stone, whether I was to have you or 
not. Or whether you were to be a little boy or not ; 
or whether you were to have fine black eyes or not. 
I make you, indeed, William ! when I cannot make 
even "one hair of your head white or black." And O 
how could I have made so fearful and wonderful a 
frame as yours, when even now that it is made, it is 
all a perfect mystery to me. See ! I place my hand 
upon my son's heart, and I feel it beating against my 
fingers ; but still I know nothing about how it beats. 1 
put my hand upon his sweet bosom, and feel it heav- 
ing as he breathes, but still I am ignorant of it all. 
And when I look at him every morning, as he break- 
fasts on his little basin of milk and bread, Oh I'm lost ! 
I'm lost! I'm lost! 

Heigh, for what, mother? cried William, surprised. 

Why for wonder how his milk and bread, white as 
snow, should be turned into blood red as crimson ; and 
how that blood soft as milk should be turned, some 
into sweet little teeth, white and hard as ivory ; and 
some into soft flowing hair like silk ; some into sweet 
polished cheeks like rose buds ; and some into bright 
shining eyes like diamonds ! Could I have made you, 
William, after this wonderful manner ? Oh no my son, 
no — not all the men on earth, nor all the angels in 
heaven, could have done it. No, none but the great 
God could have made you. 

As good Mrs. Penn uttered these words, which she 
did with great emphasis, William appeared lost in 
thought ; however, after some silence, and with a 



20 THE LIFE OF 

deep sigh, he looked up to his mother, and thus went 
on with his questions again. 

Well, mother, what did God make me for? 

Why, for his goodness' sake, my son, which loved you 
BO, he wanted to make you happy. 

How do I know, mother, that God loves me so ; I 
did never do any thing for him ? 

Well, son, and what did you ever do for me, and 
yet I have always loved you very dearly, havn't I. 

Yes, mother, but I always see you ; but I did never 
see God. 

True William, nor did you ever see your grand-fa- 
ther Pennwood ; but still you know that he loved you, 
don't you ? 

Yes, mother, that 1 do know that grandfather Penn- 
wood loves me, for he is always sending me such 
pretty things. He sent me, you know, mother, my 
pretty tame rabbits, and my pretty little horse, and a 
great many other pretty things. 

Well then my son, if God gives you a great many 
more pretty things than grandfather Pennwood ever 
did, won't you say that he loves you too ? 

Yes, that 1 will, mother. 

Done ! 'tis a bargain, William. And now, my son, 
brighten up your thoughts and tell your mother who 
gives you every thing. Who gave you these beautiful 
eyes ? Who gave you these sweet rosy checks ? Who 
gave you this lovely forehead ? Who gave you these 
dear ivory teeth ? And these nimble little feet for you 
to run about — and these pretty fingers to handle every 
thing? And who gave you all the sweet apples, and 
pears, and cherries, for you to eat ? And the birds to 
sing, and the bees to make honey-comb for you ? And 
this beautiful earth with all the sweet flowers, and 
corn, and trees ? And then who gave you these bright 
heavens away up yonder, and the sun, the moon, and 
the stars, all, all to shine so bright for you — O my dear, 



WILLIAM PENN. 21 

dear son, did grandfather Pennwood ever give you any 
thing like all this? 

Here, William, his bosom labouring as with sighs of 
wonder, replied, O mother, did God give me all these 
things ? 

O yes, to be sure, William, all these things ; and 
ten thousand thousand times more than you can ever 
count. 

Well then, mother, God must love me very much 
indeed, to give me all these things. But mother, what 
does God want from me that he gives me so many 
beautiful things ? 

Why, William, all that he wants of you, my son, is 
that you should love him very much. 

Well but, mother, what good will that do to God 
though I should love him very much ; I am only a little 
boy, I can't reach up to the skies to give him any thing ? 

True, William, but still God wants you to love him 
very much ; not that you may give him any thing, but 
that he may give you a great deal more. 

How, mother ? 

Why, son, because he knows that if you love him 
very much, you will be sure to be a good boy. 

How so, mother ? 

Why, my son, don't you know that if you love any 
body very much, it will be sweet to you to do what 
will please them ? 

Yes, mother, that is sweet. And don't I always run 
to do what will please you? When you told me just 
now to run down into the garden to bring you up 
some roses, didn't I set off and run away, like my little 
buck that grand-pa' Pennwood gave me ? 

Yes, that's what my son did run like a little buck, I 
could hardly see his feet, he did run so fast. And when 
he came back, O how beautiful did he look ? Not all 
the roses in the garden could blush like his cheeks — 
laot all the morning sloes could shine like his eyes— 



22 THE LIFE OF 

not all the buds of pinks could smell so sweet as his 
quick panting breath when, with his arms round her 
neck, and his flaxen locks floating on her bosom, he 
did hug and kiss his mother. 

Well then, come mother, let me hug and kiss you 
again. 

God bless my sweet little son for ever, cried Mrs. 
Penn, pressing him to her snowy bosom, and smother- 
ing him with kisses. Soon as the delicious transport 
was over, little William, with cheeks and eyes glow- 
ing with vermilion and diamonds, called out, well, 
mother, now tell me what 1 must do for you again, 
and see how I will run and do it. 

There now, William, cried Mrs. Penn, there now ! 
didn't I tell you so ? Did'nt I tell you that if you love 
any body very much, you will be so happy to do 
every thing for them ? Then, O my son, how readily 
will you do every thing to please God, if you do but 
love him? 

What will I do to please him, mother? 

Why, my son, you will be good^ and that's the way 
to please him. 

But what is it that makes any body good, mother ? 

Why, to be always praising God, my son, to be al- 
ways praising God, that's the first and great thing, to 
be good, to be always praising God. And there's no- 
thing in the world my son, but God, who deserves to 
be praised. He alone, William, is great, and there- 
fore he alone is to be praised. He alone is good, and 
therefore he alone is to be praised. He alone is from 
EVERLASTING to EVERLASTING, and therefore he alone 
IS to he praised. He alone made all the worlds, and 
all the people, with all the riches, and beauties, and 
glories that are in them, and therefore he alone is to 
be praised. 

Here, little William, sensibly affected with his mo- 
ther's eloquence on this great subject, made a pause ; 



WILLIAM PENN. QS 

at length he said to her, But, mother, is praising God, 
all that is to make me good ? 

O no, my son, there's another blessed thing you 
must do — you must not only praise God for all the 
great things he has done for you, but you must also 
every day prai/ to him that he will give you a con- 
tinual sense of this ; so that you may feel such grati- 
tude and love for him as always to do v/hat you know 
will please him. And from constantly doing^ this, my 
dear son, you will feel such a joy and sweetnejis in your 
heart as will make you love every body. And then, 
William, you will be sure never to do them any harm 
— you will never tell stories upon them — never take 
any thing from them — never quarrel nor fight with 
them, but will always do them good as God is always 
doing you good. 

Well, mother, replied W^illiam, looking at her with 
great tenderness, " and will God love me then, and be 
always good to me like you?" 

O yes, my dear child, that he will love you like me ; 
and ten thousand thousand times better. And then, 
though father and mother die and leave you, yet God 
will never die and leave you, but will be with you all 
your days long, to bless you in every thing. And wherr 
the time comes for you to die, he will send his Great 
Angels to bring you to himself in his own glorious 
heaven, where you will see all the millions of beautiful 
angels. And there perhaps, my son, you may see me, 
your mother — ^but, I hope, not as now, pale, and 
sickly, and often shedding tears for you — but ten thou- 
sand times beyond wiiat I could ever deserve ; even 
like one of his own angels, the first to embrace and 
welcome you to that happy place. 

As the Parent Eagle calling her young to his native 
skies, when she sees the breaking forth of the sun over 
all his golden clouds, thus did this tender mother im- 
prove the precious hours of the nursery to sow the 
seeds of religion in the soul of her son. The reader 



24 THE LIFE OF 

will see m due season that this, her labour of love was 
not in vain. The seed fell on good ground. The 
dews of heaven came down : and the happy mother 
lived to feast on fruits, the richest that God can bestow 
on a parent this side of eternity, the sweet fruits of a 
dear child's virtues. 



CHAPTER V. 

Little William going to school. 

Many a tender mother, after having reared her son 
to be the sweet companion of her solitude, looks for- 
ward, with an aching heart, to the day when he is to 
be taken from her to go to school. " How can she 
live without him, whose love-glistening eyes were al- 
ways dearer to her soul than the rising-sun, and his 
gay prattling tongue than the song of morning birds." 
Not so our wiser Mrs. Penn. With her, the blossom 
had all its charm : but still her thoughts were on the 
richer fruit. William, 'tis true, was lovely as a child ; 
but she longed to see him glorious as a man — she 
longed to see him brilliant in conversation — noble in 
action — and always approached by his friends v.'ith 
that mingled affection and respect so gratifying to a 
parent's feelings. Soon therefore, as he had attained 
his ninth year, he was sent to a grammar school at 
Chigwell. The preference was given to this academy^ 
not so much because it was somewhat convenient to 
one of the admiral's estates, but because of the 
teacher, a worthy clergyman, who had the reputa- 
tion of taking great pains with his pupils to raise the 
fail- fabrick of their education on the solid basis of 
PIETY and morals. Prayers, morning and evening, 
with reading a chapter from the gospels, with short 



WILLIAM PENN. . $5 

and affectionate comments, was the constant practice 
in his school. This was a great recommendation with 
Mrs. Penn, who had seen so many promising young 
men suddenly lost to all virtue and character in life, 
merely for lack of religious principles. But though 
Mrs. Penn had herself chosen this situation for her son,, 
yet when the time came to make preparations for his 
leaving her, she could not help feeling a tender melan- 
choly. Nor could William, notwithstanding the spright- 
liness of youth, entirely escape the soft infection. For 
several days before he was to go away, it was observed 
that he seemed to have lost his spirits. In the midst 
of his play, he would break off and come and sit by 
her side, in silence, reposing his cheeks on her bosom. 
And often, when he lifted his eyes to look at his mother, 
they w^ere seen watery and sad. But, stifling her own 
sighs, she would press him to her breast, and kissing 
away his tears, would say, " never mind, my son, never 
mind ; our parting is unpleasant, but it is for good, for 
great good both of your honour and my joy. But still I am 
pleased to see you so sad at parting from your mother. 
It shows that you remember how much I have loved you. 
But though we part,William,it is only in the body; which 
is but small cause of grief. The mind is all,, my son^ the 
mind is all; and we can be together in the mind. Andso, 
though I shall not see you, every day, with these bodily 
eyes, I shall see you with my mind's eye, which is a 
great deal better. And, O, how often, and how sweet- 
ly shall I see my son ; every morning coming out from 
his chamber in dress so neat and clean — and with such 
sweetness of countenance saluting his school-mates — 
and so respectfully approaching his teacher ! And then 
the looks of his teacher so bright with pleasure and 
approbation of his graceful manners and rapid progress 
in his studies ! — ^and the eyes of all the boys shining 
upon him with such brotherly affection !" 

Here William looked at his mother and heaved a 
sigh, as if he secretly feared he should hardly attain 



m THE LIFE OF 

such honours ; when Mrs. Penn, in a hveUer tone, thus 
went on : — " Yes, WiUiam, it is often dehghtful to my 
thoughts to see my son in such company : but I often 
see him in higher company still. I see him every 
morning and evening on his knees^ with placid coun- 
tenance and meekly beaming eyes, lifted in devotion 
to his Creator."" 

Marking William's looks, as with redoubled atten- 
tion he hung upon her words, she still went on : 

" Aye, William, there's the true grandeur and glory 
of all ! O, to think that I should ever have a son to 

CONVERSE WITH GoD !" 

" Well, mother," said Wilham, " Don't I always 
pray with you night and morning, as you taught me ?"' 

" Yes," replied Mrs. Penn, " that you do, William ^ 
and that gives me good hope you will continue that 
pious practice at school. But lest the company of so 
many boys, and some of them perhaps giddy^ should 
divert you from it, I want to make a bargain with you, 
my son." 

" What's that, mother ?" said William, eagerly, 

*'Why, here's a handsome watch, William," said 
she, taking one from her bosom ; " that I have bought 
for you. It keeps good time, just hke my own. Now^ 
William, I give you this watch, that at a particular 
hour of the day, no matter what company or business 
is before you, you will retire to your chamber, and there 
spend one quarter of an hour in devotion. 1 will also,, 
at the same moment, retire to my closet, for the same 
important purpose. And O, what joy will it be to my 
heart to think that while I am in the act of adoring 
God, my son is adoring him also ; that while others are 
making th^ir court to dying worms, my son is bowing 
before the Eternal King, and seeking those honours 
that will last for ever." 

William took the watch from his mother, giving her 
at the same time the most solemn promise that he 
would meet her every day at the appointed hour of 



WILLIAM PENN. 27 

devotion ; and assuring her, too, what pleasure it would 
give him to think he was worshipping God at the same 
moment with his dear mother. 

Having discharged this high duty to her son, and the 
hour being come for his departure, Mrs. Penn took 
leave of her little William with that dignified kind of 
sorrow which alone can reach the heart of real piety. 
While William, having on this, as on all other occasions, 
such good cause to glory in his mother as his dear 
guardian angel, took leave of her with a joy mingled 
with his tears that made them delicious. 



CHAPTER VL 

William, now in his ninth year, is at Chigwell 
school, among a crowd of strangers. But though inno- 
cence like his feels not the bitterness of grief, yet the 
separation, and for the first time too, from a mother so 
dear, must wring some drops from his youthful heart, 
it is visible to every eye, nor least of all to his worthy 
preceptor. And if this amiable man, at first sight, felt 
guch respect for him, as the son of the brave admiral 
Penn, that respect was mellowed into the kindest sym- 
pathy, when he saw his cheeks of youth shrouded with 
sorrow. This melancholy was of advantage to William. 
It caused him to think so dearly of his mother's last 
command, that every day, punctually as the appointed 
hour arrived, he would retire to his chamber to pray. 
But although, as he himself candidly acknowledged, 
this pious act was at first performed principally on ac- 
count of bis mother's request and his own promise ; yet 
he soon began to find a delight in it. He soon found, on 
entering his chamber, a crowd of precious ideas press- 
ing upon his mind. — He felt that " he was acting the 
dutiful child to a beloved mother — that beloved mo- 



38 THE LIFE OF 

ther was at the same moment in her chamber to meet 
him — and both of them engaged in the most ennobling 
of all services — the worship of God." 

Christ has said, " Suffer the little children to come 
unto me." And some are of opinion that, in uncor- 
rupted minds, like those of children, it requires nothing 
but a little consideration to bring them to be religious ; 
and that if young people, who are yet tolerably innocent, 
would but retire awhile, every day, into some secret 
place, and indulge a few serious thoughts, such as — 
how they came into existence — where they are now — 
and where they soon must be — they could not but be 
startled into a solemn conviction of the being and at- 
tributes of God ; their dependence on him ; and the 
great wisdom of devotion. This appears to have been 
remarkably verified in the case of young Penn. It ap- 
pears from all his biographers, that he had not been 
long engaged in this pious work of daily retiring by 
himself, like the youthful Samuel, to meditate and pray, 
before he was met, like that holy child, with a wonder- 
ful answer. One day, while alone in his chamber, he 
was suddenly surprised by a light of a most extraordina- 
ry lustre, which he called " an external glory." And 
at the same time he experienced in his heart a light- 
soMENESS and joy which he had never felt before. And 
though he could not define either this internal or ex- 
ternal something ; yet to his dying day, he spoke of it 
as " A VISITATION FROM GoD," who had thus lovingly 
condescended to invite him to the "honours of a pious 

LIFE." 

Some gentlemen, and those too so modest as to think 
themselves the only wits in the world, will probably 
laugh at this as a mere childish weakness in young 
William Penn. But such persons ought to remember 
that William Penn is not the first nor the last who has 
been affected in this way in their devotions. Thou- 
sands and millions of souls, especially at first turning 
their backs on a false and wicked world, and coming 



WILLIAM PENN. 29 

to God in tender upright prayer, have felt the same 
" LIGHTSOMENESS AT HEART," which he speaks of as 
a " visitation from God^''"' a call to the " honours of a 
PIOUS LIFE." And where is the wonder of all this ? 
Is man, for whom God created, and has so long sus- 
tained these heavens and this earth, is man of so little 
value, that his Maker will not visit him with smiles of 
approbation for doing what w^ill exalt him to the great 
end of all, i. e. temporal and eternal happiness ? Be- 
sides, is not every man and woman on earth daily re- 
ceiving visitations from God, and calls to the honours 
of a pious life ? What is every transport which the 
soul feels on obtaining the victory over lust, but a visi- 
tation from God ? What is every secret blush of shame, 
or palpitation ef heart from guilt, but a visitation from 
God, and a strong call to a good life ? After this ex- 
traordinary affair at Chigwell, we hear nothing of 
young William worth relating, until his fifteenth year, 
when we meet him again at Oxford college. From a 
very important occurrence there, we have good rea- 
son to conclude that if he had not doubled his talents, 
(his religious impressions) at Chigwell, he had not bu- 
ried them in the earth. Hearing that a strange sort 
of preacher, by some called a Quaker, was about to 
preach in Oxford, William thought he would go and 
hear him. The appearance of the preacher, who had 
neither reverend, nor right-reverend tacked to his 
name, but simple Thomas Loe, excited his surprise. 
He had been accustomed, both in the London and Ox- 
ford churches, to see divinity dressed up in great state 
of velvet cushions and embroidered pulpit cloths, and 
its ministers pompously habited in rich gowns and 
cassocks of silk and crape, with surplices and sashes 
of many a various hue and emblem. Guess then what 
he must have felt, when, at the rising of Thomas Loe 
to speak, he beheld a plain, fleshy, round-faced man, in 
a broad-brimmed hat and drab coat of the humblest 
.•cloth and cut, and a close snu;^ neckcloth, all shining 
c 2 



30 THE LIFE OF 

clean and neat. Nor was he less surprised at friend 
Loe's preaching, which struck him as entirely different 
from that of all the London and Oxford preachers he 
had ever heard. These latter were, all of them, great 
SCHOLARS ; and for fear their hearers should forget this, 
they kept them constantly on the stare at their high 
flown language. And to complete their delirium of 
wonder, they would every now and then throw them 
a scrap of Latin or Greek, selected with ostentation 
and most pompously pronounced. But, far on the 
contrary, soon as friend Loe had got up and taken the 
beaver from his head, he began to address his hearers 
in the simple and affectionate manner that a father 
would use with his children whom he knew to be dis- 
orderly and unhappy. We regret that we cannot set 
before our readers an exact copy of the famous sermon 
that first set the great William Penn to seek eternal 
life. But it was the aim of the orator to affect his 
hearers with a pungent sense of the miseries of man 
in this life, while separate from God by sin ; also that 
"joy unspeakable^'''' which springs up in his soul from 
" repentance and faith working by love^ The lookf? 
and tones of friend Loe, while reasoning on this high 
subject, must have been of the highest style of sacred 
eloquence. Flowing from a fountain of the strongest 
light and love in his own soul, they penetrated the soul 
of young William Penn, and excited his deepest as{)ira- 
tions after a happiness which he heard so feelingly 
described, but which he did not knov%^ how to obtain. 
After bearing this burden for three days, he went to 
the principal of the college, who, according to the po- 
lite language of the day, was a learned divine , and 
told him his uneasiness. The principal inquired the 
cause ; and, on learning that he had been at a " quaker 
sermon^'''' he laughed all his feelings to scorn, as mere fa- 
naticism and nonsense , and advised him to " keep to 
the good old church, hear sermons, and take the sacra- 
ment, and all would soon be well auain.*" William 



WILLIAM PENN 31 

went to church — as indeed he ever had done — but he 
found not there the comfort which his soul longed 
after. Cold read prayers ; cold read sermons ; noisy 
organs, with crowds of gay ones and great, professing 
to worship God, but evidently idolizing themselves and 
one another. 

Oh how illy did such vanities suit the seriousness of 
a mind like his ! No wonder that he turned from them 
disgusted, and went away as restless and unsatisfied as 
he came. 



CHAPTER VII. 

William Penn does not inform us how long he 
continued under this cloud. Probably not long. He 
who asks nothing but the salvation of his offend- 
ing children, is not hard to be intreated when he sees 
the contrite heart, and honest wish, for the blessedness 
of reconcihation with their heavenly father. O, would 
mourners but remember that " God is Love," and 
that " there is joy in heaven over one sinner that re- 
penteth," they would not mope and mourn as many 
do, yea, and for great part of their lives. Our Saviour 
has given us the true pattern in the case of the prodi- 
gal son. There does not appear to have been much 
time lost betwixt the conviction and conversion of 
that young man. " Soon as he came to himself," for 
you see that while going on in sin, he is represented 
as one quite out of his head, — " soon as he came to 
himself," and found at what a mad rate he had been 
driving on — what a princely fortune he had squan- 
dered — and into what a woful condition he had brought 
himself — and also remembered what a wealthy and 
loving father he still had left him, he instantly resolved 
to face about and pack of)" home ag'>in. The moment 



32 THE LIFE OF 

he took up tliis resolution, the blessed work was all 
but done. For, " while he was yet a great way off, 
his fatlier saw him ; and had compassion on him, and 
ran and fell upon his neck and kissed him." The 
young man began to make a speech^ but the father stop- 
ped him short. He saw that his poor self-ruined child 
was a penitent. And that was all he wanted. Be- 
sides, rtrue love " will have mercy and not sacrifice." 
his^on is naked and cold, and hungry and wretched. 
This is no time, the father thinks, to hear fine speeches. 
With all the vehemence of parental love yearning over 
his own flesh and blood a sutiering, he cries aloud to 
the servants, " bring hither the best robe and put it 
upon him ! and kill the fatted calf!" O how does the 
divine goodness break forth in this language ! not sim- 
ply the robe but the best robe ; not merely the calf 
but the TATTED calf. And all this, good as it is, is not 
half good enough yet. The rich robe on his shoulders 
must be accompanied with glittering " rings on his 
fingersi;" and the fatted calf must be diluted with pre- 
cious. wm^. And then music too must come — music 
with all rher soul-enchanting strains, to proclaim the 
happy father's joy, that " his son, who was dead, is 
alive.; he v/as lost, but is found." Now Christ hold^ 
ing out^uch love and forgiveness, what are we to think 
of those who can be so long '^ seeking peace and not 
finding it ?" Is there not ground for suspicion that they 
are not honest, like the prodigal, to return home to 
their heavenly Father, but must still stick to some of 
^eir *' husks and swine^^ of sin, which God abhors. 
Their grum looks indeed, and godly groanings would 
pass them, already for saints ; and the preacher often 
woaders why brother Longface "doesn't find peace." 
But put on your spectacles, thou purblind preach- 
er, and try brother Longface's spirit, whether he has 
any marks of that " love," which must always go be- 
fore "peace and joy in the Holy Ghost." 'Tis true 
" he disfigures his face and seems to men to fast ;" but 



WILLIAM PENN. 33 

still see how he " grinds the face of the poor," and 
** devours widows' houses." He uses long prayers in 
his family ; but see how harsh and unloving he is in his 
manners towards them. He will spruce up and go 
fifty miles to a "• Conference ;" to an " Associa- 
tion ;" to a " Convention ;" to a " Presbytery ;" to 
hear great sermons and to take a sacrament. But, how 
far will he go out of his way to pay a just debt? He 
builds " Cathedrals for the Lord of Hosts ;" but oh! 
what wretched huts for his own servants ! He " makes 
feasts for the rich,'''' but alas how are his poor negroes 
lied ! His own sons and daughters wear " soft raiment 
as in kings^ houses," but his slaves are in rags! And is 
it to be wondered at, that God, the friend of the 
POOR, does not lift up the light of his countenance on 
such a hypocrite ? 

Happily for William Penn he had none of these 
hindrances in his way to religion and its comforts. 
Through the promised blessing on a pious mother's 
instructions he had been early brought to relish the 
pleasures of moral goodness. Soon therefore as that 
good spirit which spoke to Socrates, which spoke to 
Cornelius, and which speaks to all, whispered to Wil- 
liam Pena, and said " this is the road ; walk therein,^* 
he was ready to obey. 

Fortunately recollecting, that while friend Loe was 
preaching, several of the youth of the college, his ac- 
quaintance, had appeared much affected, he went to 
their chambers, and after some search found out seven 
or eight ; among whom was Robert, afterwards lord 
Spencer, and John Locke, the writer of the famous 
^' treatise on the human understanding," and who, 
'tis said, was in principle a friend all his life. Drawn 
together by kindred sentiments, these favoured youth 
immediately formed themselves into a society, that by 
reading the scriptures, with free and mutual inter- 
change of their feelings, and by prayer, they might 
preserve and improve tlieir pious impressions. Find- 



54 'S'HE LIFE OF 

ing more of the spirit and sweets of devotion in these 
warm Httle exercises with one another, than in the 
cold formahties at the estabhshed church, they began 
to absent themselves, and to spend their sabbaths to- 
gether in the aforesaid excellent way. This their se- 
cession from the church was soon noticed by the 
professors of the college, and with much pain, on ac- 
count indeed of them all, but chiefly of William Penn, 
partly because of his father, a favourite officer with 
the nation, but still more for himself, whose extraordi- 
nary talents at the green age of fifteen, had advanced 
him to the first honours of the University, and whose 
singular sweetness of spirit and many manly virtues 
had rendered him the object of general partiality. "A 
youth of such amiableness and promise, was not to be 
lost." He was of course sent for by the principal, who, 
M^ith an air of parental tenderness, began with him by 
expressing his regret, that he had not followed the ad- 
vice he lately gave him. He also expressed his asto- 
nishment that a young man of his rank and genius 
should so dishonour both, by exchanging the rational 
and dignified service of the churchy for a worship so 
insipid and childish as that of the quakers. 

William rephed, with great modesty, that Christ 
himself had invited the little children to come unto 
him ; for that his kingdom, or church, was composed 
©f such. He added, ^' that however the great ones of 
this world, when waited on by their inferiors, might 
look for pomp and parade ; yet to the Almighty all 
this was abomination in comparison of that approach 
(of the soul to him in the meek and docile spirit of a 
child." 

The pnncipal branded all this as mere delusion., 
and entreated him, by all that he owed his parents, to 
whom he might afford a long life of comfort — by all 
that he owed his country, to which he might be a bright 
ornament — and by all that he owed the churchy to 
*yho5e ^OTJ such talents and early piety as his would 



WILLIAM PENN. $S 

greatly conduce^ to give up his fanatical notions^ and 
return to the faith he was born and brought up in. 

Wilham replied, that all this was xery flattering, 
and far beyond any thing he could think himself enti- 
tled to ; but that if it were ten times greater, he could 
not grieve the Spirit and darken the Light within him^ 

This latter phrase appeared to hurt the principal ; 
for knitting his brow, he said, he hoped Mr. Penn 
would not compel him to use severe measures^ 

William asked what he meant by that. 

" Why, sir, I shall be obliged to indict you for now 
conformity.'''' 

" That is, in plain English, you mean to persecute 
me ; to drive me to your church contrary to my own 
reason and conscience. And what good can you ex- 
pect to do me by that ?" 

" It is to keep you^sir, from the crying sin of schism. 
There cannot be a greater sin, sir, than for Christian* 
to separate from one another." 

" I see no ground, sir," said William, " far such a 
fear. I do not see how Christians can possibly sepa- 
rate from one another in a bad sense of the word. The 
lambs of the fold never separate^ yea, though they may 
differ in the colours of their fleeces, some white and 
some black, yet still being all the san>e in innocence 
and gentleness, they do not separate, but cleave to 
one another by a natural affection. Even so, and in- 
deed much more must Christians cleave to one ano- 
ther. I am sure they have infinitely sweeter and dearer 
ties to bind them together. For what is it, sir, that 
makes real Christians but '-perfect love out of a pure 
HEART ;' and how can they who possess it themselves, 
but be charmed in others with that blessed spirit which 
is to do away all fraud and violence from the earth, 
and fill it with all the precious fruits of universal righ- 
teousness ?" 

" Well then, sir," said the principal, how can you 
separate from the good Christians of our church, and 



36 THE LIFE OF 

that too the very ehurch your were born and brought 
up in ?" 

William replied, with the trepidation of one who 
feared he should give offence, that he had retired from 
the church he was born and brought up in, because he 
had not found in it what he prized above all things — 
the sweet society of loving Christians. 

To this the principal returned with warmth, that it 
was great presumption in one so young as he was, to 
pass such a sentence on any church, and especiaJlj on 
the venerable mother church of the nation. 

"I was afraid, sir," replied William, "that you 
would be offended, I did not wish it : but as you talk- 
ed of persecuting and fining me for non-conformity^ I 
felt it a duty to tell you my reasons. And now, sir, let me 
add, that, though I do not pretend to know their hearts, 
yet while I see among the members of the church, so 
little of the spirit of Christ, so little love for their bre- 
thren, or so little delight in doing them good ; and, on 
the other hand, so much pride^ and hate, and revenge, 
and flesh-pleasing of all sorts, how can I think them 
loving Christians ?" 

A profound silence ensued ; when the principal, call-^ 
tng him "an incorrigible young man,''^ took up his 
hat ; and, as he turned to go away, advised him to look 
sharp, and be constant at church, or he should sooa 
Blear from him again. 

But to cut short this shameful story, I will just first 
inform the reader, that William Penn and his religious 
young friends, for " assembling themselves together to 
worship God, contrary to law,'''' were summoned before 
the HIGHER POWERS, and severely fined I ! 



WILLIAM PENN. S7 



CHAPTER VII. 



As soon as it was known in college that he had 
turned Quaker, that he had been cited before the prin- 
cipal, and fined for non-conformity, the looks and man- 
ners of his acquaintance were sadly altered towards 
him ; and he had the mortification to find that those 
who had caressed and courted him, because of his ta- 
lents and high standing, now squinted at him as tliough 
he had just come out of the pillory. 

That William Penn, by bravely combining the wis- 
dom of the serpent with the harmlessness of the dove, 
might ultimately have borne down this prejudice, and 
turned his enemies into friends, there can be no doubt. 
People may laugh at the Quakers if they please, but 
laughing cannot alter the nature of things. Born to be 
happy, -men naturally love happiness, and hate misery. 
And as virtue naturally makes men happy, and vice 
naturally makes them miserable, this natural loveliness 
of the one and hatefulness of the other, will force 
themselves upon us in spite of all the nicknames we 
can give 'em. And this conviction will daily grow 
stronger, as we grow wiser to understand the curses 
of the one and the blessings of the other. The young 
man who, by lies, keeps his acquaintance in hot water 
— or picks their pockets by his gambling — or cuts 
their throats in duels, — will quickly be abhorred, no 
matter how much he is cried up as a Churchman. 
While the youth who is uniformly virtuous and good 
humoured, will soon become the esteem and love of 
all, even though fools should at first laugh at him as a 
Quaker. That young Pcnn and his friends, by dint of 
persevering prudence and affection, would have gained 
this triumph, is unquestionable. But oh the weakness 
of poor human nature I how prone to error, and by 
excess of folly to throw " dead flies into the apotheca' 
ri/'^s sweetest ointment,'''' These same young men, viz. 



38 THE LIFE OF 

Wm. Penn & Co, who but a few days before had beea 
amartly taxed for not conforming to other people's no- 
tions^ were ready now to tax others for not conform- 
ing to their notions ; and having given up all variety 
o( dress themselves, they thought that others ought to 
do so too, and even to be compelled to do it. This is 
confirmed by their own act ; for meeting some of theii 
young college acquaintance in dresses that to them 
seemed highly fantastical and unchristian, they began 
to remonstrate with them against such levity: and be 
cause the young fellows laughed at them as '-'•fanatics,'' 
they fell upon them outright, and by main force ren* 
their clothes from- their shoulders ! ! This most impu 
dent act was to William Penn like the uncorking of 
the vial of the seventh angel. It was followed by such 
floods and &torms of trouble, that had not his mind 
been stayed on the " rock of ages," he must have been 
utterly swept away. He was instantly cited before 
the Professors and Trustees of the College, in the pre- 
sence of the assembled students, and after having his 
conduct arraigned of such hypocrisy and folly as were 
sufficient to burn his cheeks to cinders, he was formal 
ly expelled! 

This, though a most severe trial to an ingenuous 
youth like William Penn, was but a trifle in compari 
son of what he yet saw before him — the red fiery tern 
pest of his father's face when he should be told of hrs 
expulsion from college, and the cause of it ! and. 
worse still, the sudden paleness of his dear mother'* 
cheeks, and her starting tears, on hearing of his dis- 
grace. Willing, long as possible to delay giving them 
this pain, he purposely declined writing to his parents, 
preferring to be the bearer himself. Accordingly he set 
out for Penn's Dale, where his sudden appearance 
struck them with surprise. " Hallo William !" cried 
his father with joy, giving him his hand ; " why, what, 
my son ! returned to por<^ already i 1 hope you hav'nt 
met with foul weatnei I " Hia mother , roused by the 



WILLIAM PENN- ^ 

€udden music of William's name, turned around with 
her face all flushed with joy, and flying to embrace 
him, exclaimed, " High, my dear William ! what 
brought you home so soon ?" Alarmed at the sudden 
paleness on his cheeks, they both at once eagerly in- 
quired what was the matter ! With his characteristic 
firmness he replied — ^^ Pm expelled from the University P"* 
Pale as a blighted lily, poor Mrs. Penn stood a statue 
of speechless consternation ; while the Admiral, clasp- 
ing his hands and rolling his eyes, as if he had sudden- 
ly beheld half his fleet blown up by the Dutch, ex- 
claimed — 

" Expelled from the University !" 

" Yes, sir, they have expelled me," replied William, 

" Expelled you, do you still say, child," continued 
the Admiral, wild, and blowing like a frightened por- 
poise, " a child of mine expelled from an English Uni- 
versity ! why I — why i — what ! in the name of God, 
could have been the cause ?" — " Why^ sir," answered 
William, " it was because I tore their dresses from off 
the shoulders of some of the students." — Here, the 
Admiral, with his cheeks puckered up, and a whistle, 
shrill as the boatswain's call of a man of war .missing 
stays on a lee shore, exclaimed — =" You tore the dresses, 
from off the shoulders of some of the students ! why' 
God's mercy on my soul ! what had you to do witjj^ 
their dresses ?" - - 

" Why, father," answered William, " their dtess?^ 
were so fantastical and unbecoming the dignity of^ 
Englishmen and the sobriety of Christians, that I felt 
it a duty to my country and conscience to bear my 
testimony against them. And moreover, I was assist- 
ed in it by Robert Spencer, and John Locke,and other 
discreet youths of the college." 

Here, the death pale on Mrs. Penn'fi cheeks, bright- 
ening into the vermilion of joy, she exclaimed — " We'U 
thank God ! thank God, 'tis no worse*" 



40 THE LIFE OF 

" You are thankful for small favours, madam,'' 
said the admiral, peevishly ; I don't see what could be 
worse. 

Why, my dear, replied she, had William been ex- 
pelled for drunkenness, gambling, duelhng, or any 
other such detestable vices, would not that have been 
ten thousand times worse ? 

Why — why — ^yes ; answered the admiral rather re- 
luctantly, that — that would have been worse I confess. 
But this is bad enough, and too bad too. A son of 
mine to be expelled from college ! — Such a thing was 
never heard of in my family before. 

But still, my dear, we have great reason to be glad 
the cause of it was a pardonable error and not infamous 
vice, and that instead of attaching to our son the ab- 
horrence due to crime, we should rather augment our 
respect for him as having done what he thought right. 

Rights madam ! what right had he to pass judgment 
on the dresses of others, and particularly of such grand 
institutions as Universities ? 

Why, father, replied William, my mind has been ex- 
ceedingly exercised since I saw you. 

Exercised ! What do you mean by that? 

Why, father, it has been given me here of late to see 
jnany things in a new light. 

8c Zounds, sir, I hope it has not been given you to see 
pengs in the light of a blockhead. A child, hke you, 
«x talk of your new lights ! 'Tis all nonsense. 
"^ I mean, father, replied William, that it has been 
given me to see many things \eTj wrong which I once 
thought innocent. 

The admiral wanted to know what he was to un- 
derstand by that. 

Why, certainly, father, answered William, every wise 
man should be consistent ; and especially that wisest 
of all men the real Christian. If therefore we are 
simple witliin we should be all simplicity without. 



WILLIAM PENN. 41 

And he who inwardly in his heart is seeking the smilei 
of God, should not outwardlj, by his dresa, be court- 
ing the world. 

Here good Mrs. Penn, her eyes sparkling on William, 
looked very much like an angel. But the Admiral 
turning to her said, rather ironically, why the boy it 
certainly out of his head ! or has been among the qua- 
kers. Now come be candid, William, and tell .me, have 
you not been hearing Tom Loe ? 

Yes, father, I have, said William, very firmly; and 
J hope I have not learned from him to think less re- 
verently of truth. 

Nor of duty to your father neither, I hope, sir, re- 
joined the admiral tartly. And as proof that you have 
not, I expect you will go back to-morrow, and by pro- 
per concessions, recover your high standing in the 
University, and by instantly quitting your silly quakec- 
ism, worship God according to the good old forms of 
the established church of the nation, 

William in the most respectful manner replied, that 
he should be exceedingly happy to obey his honoured 
father in all things lawful, and especially in this late 
matter, the attack on the students about their dress, 
which he was already ashamed of as a mere spirit of 
" zeal without knowledge^'''' and entirely contrary to the 
spirit of Christ who forbids his disciples to strive or to 
propagate the truth by violence. But that as to aban- 
doning the Christians called Quakers, and confining 
himself to the established church, he hoped, he sai(£ 
his father would not insist on that. 

Why not, sir ? replied the admiral angrily. 

Why, because, father, I hope you will never think 
of abridging my liberty of conscience by compelling 
me to be a churchman when I wish to be a quakei:. 

But why do you give that silly preference o/ qua- 
kerism to the established church ? 

Why, father, peoples' tastes are different. And if I 
preferred a particular dish, 1 should hope vou would 
D 2 



42 THE LIFE OF 

gratify me in it, especially if it was quite as wholesome 
^s another dish, even though 1 could not assign the 
reason of my preference of the first ; then much more 
m this case where the reason is so plain. 

Well, sir, I should like to hear your reasons, so plain, 
for preferring quakerism to the established church you 
were brought up in. 

Father, I may not have arguments to satisfy you; 
but they are such as fully satisfy myself. 

Then pray let me hear them. 

Well, father, when I look into the gospel, I see no- 
thing there but lessons and examples of the most per- 
fect HUMILITY and LOVE. All are ^' sinners^'''' and 
therefore all should be humble. And, on repent- 
ance, all are received into favour, and therefore all 
should love. But father, look into the established 
church, and do you see any thing like humility and 
love there ? Nay, don't j^ou see the most glaring marks 
of PRIDE and SELFISHNESS ? Dou't you see both among 
the priests and their people a constant vieing with each 
other, who shall have the grandest houses, and the 
richest furniture ; who shall appear in the finest clothes 
and the most dazzling equipage ; and who shall be the 
greatest talk of the town for these things ? Now fa- 
ther, is there any humility in this ? And as to love, 
look at their endless challenges and duels, their cutf- 
ings and fightings, their law-suings and bickerings. 
Can this be a church of Christ ? Then where 's the 
propriety of driving me into fellowship with such a 
church as this ? 

Yes, replied the admiral, 1 know this is the common 
slang of the dissenters against the established church ; 
and I doubt not you heard enough of it from Tom Loe, 
out it amounts to nothing : for there are good and bad 
?n a}! churches. 

Yes, father, but do you know any such character as a 
drunken quaker, a gambling quaker, a duelling quaker, 
\ law-suing quaker. 



WILLIAM PENN. 43 

Well, well, admit there are more disorderly charac- 
ters among them, it reflects nothing on the Church. 

I don't know, sir, how you can prove this. There 
can be no eifect without a cause. And we cannot be 
long at a loss for the cause in this case when we look 
at the glaring corruptions of the clergy. Christ and 
his apostles had not where to lay their heads, but our 
bishops and archbishops live in kings' palaces. Christ 
and his apostles had neither scrip nor purse ; but these 
ride in gilt coaches, and enjoy, each of them, a reve- 
nue sufficient to maintain five hundred poor families. 
Christ and his apostles wanted only the plainest lan- 
guage to tell sinners their misery and danger : but our 
clergy must have their Latin and Greek, and a thou- 
sand other things equally useless. And they set so high 
a price on these, and lay themselves out so entirely to 
get these, that they never get the spirit of Christ's 
preachers ; hence, instead of that burning zeal with 
tears and vehemence we read of in the prophets and 
apostles, these gentlemen run over their prayers and 
sermons, like lazy school-boys impatient of their lessons 
and anxious to get through them. I hope therefore, 
my dear father, you will never compel me to a church 
with whose spirit and manners I can have no fellow- 
ship." The admiral listened to this discourse of his son 
without interrupting him, and with looks still gather- 
ing, as William went on, a deeper and a deeper shade 
of saddest disappointment, till at the close, strongly 
clasping together his uplifted hands, with a kind of 
sardonic grin he thus exclaimed, — " Well ! my pigs 
are all brought to a fine market I And here's a pretty 
ending of all the bright castles that I have for years 
been building in the air for this boy ! A lad of genius — 
getting a complete college education — the only child 
of a British admiral — great friends at court — the 
high road to preferment all ahoy before him — and yet 
determined to turn his back on all, and hve and die a 
poor despised quaker ! Why, God's mercy on my soul. 



44 THE LIFE OP 

boy ! can you submit to all this ? you who might have 
been among the first in the realm in any walk you had 
chosen to turn yourself too. If to the army, a general — 
if to the navy, an admiral — if to the law, a chief jus- 
tice — to medicine, a court physician — to divinity, a 
bishop or lord primate ! And now with all these 
grand prizes completely under your guns, will you haul 
down your colours, and in a three-buttoned drab, and 
broad beaver, go sneaking about the world, or sitting 
half asleep and twirling your thumbs at a silent meet- 
ing with Tom Loe ; a superstitious blockhead, no more 
to be compared to one of our learned divines, than a 
Duch cock-boat, to a British line of battle-ship." 

William, but little affected by this glittering landscape 
which his father had so eloquently run over, was about 
to reply, but the admiral, with anger flashing from his 
eyes, interrupted him, saying, " Harkee young man ' 
I know you have a clear head and a fluent tongue, 
till this most unfortunate hour they were my delight ; 
but in such a cause as this, I never wish to hear them. 
All that I have to say to you is, that you will let me 
know, to-morrow morning, whether you will go back 
to the University and do as I have desired you, or not. 
And take notice, sirrah, that if you do not, you are 
no longer a son of mine, and never again shall you 
darken my door. Retire with your mother to her 
chamber. I know she has always been a greater fa- 
vourite with you than myself. Perhaps she may do 
something with you." 

Having long been accustomed to command his head- 
strong thousands, among whom disobedience is instant 
death, he had learned, when angry, to curl his whis- 
kers and clothe his looks in such terrors, that the gen- 
tle Mrs. Penn durst make no reply. So taking her son 
by the arm she slowly retired, in tears, to her chamber, 
leaving the admiral in a state of feeling which my rea- 
ders can better conceive than I describe. 



WILLIAM PENN. 45 

CHAPTER IX. 

OiV retiring to her chamber, Mrs. Peim threw her 
Lrms around WiUiam's neck, and sitting down with 
him, still locked in her embraces, she shed many a 
pearly drop into his bosom. Melted by this dear pa- 
rent's kindness, he tenderly asked, — " Mother, do you 
blame me for doing what I thought my duty V 

In tones soft as the whispers of love from a mo- 
ther's lips, she replied — " No, my son, I do not. But 
still it grieves me that you should ever have done any 
thing to offend a father who so dotes on you. Besides, 
why can't you be rehgious and yet attain all the ho- 
nours and CONSEQUENCE in life that are before you ?" 
William, with a look inclined to smile, for which he 
was, through life, most remarkable in the gloomiest 
scenes, said, " Why, mother, you are the main cause 
of all this." Astonished, she asked him what he 
meant. " Why, my dear mother, it was your dia- 
logues, your blessed dialogues in the nursery, that first 
brought me to God, and will you now be so cruel as to 
pull me back again ?" 

" No ! no ! not for ten thousand worlds," replied she 
earnestly ; " but can't you walk with God, and yet be 
rich and great in this world ? We read in the scrip- 
tures of Joseph, and Daniel, and others who were great 
saints, even in the courts of idolatrous kings." 

" Aye, mother," said William, shaking his head, " all 
this is possible, but it is dangerous. Christ, you know, 
says, ' not many rich, not many great' are among his 
humble and loving family. Many, indeed, are call- 
ed, and for a time make a goodly show ; but the 
smiles of the world, and the deccitfulness of riches, 
prove too strong for them ; so that though ' many are 
called^ but few are chosen."* A sweet flower is some- 
times seen on the highways and among the rocks, but 
it is rare. A (it soil, mother, is not more necessary for 



46 THE LIFE OF 

flowers than a fit society for saints ; and had they but 
enjoyed such, there would have been more Daniels 
and Josephs than one in Egypt, and Chaldea. And 
besides, mother, what is all this pomp and grandeur 
of the world, which my father so anxiously covets for 
me ? These chief justices and lord mayors, these 

GENERALS and ADMIRALS, thcSC BISHOPS and ARCH- 
BISHOPS, are great names ; yet, after all, what are they 
but splendid paupers j and many of them, in the midst 
of their fancied greatness, as mean-spirited, and grip- 
ing, and furious, and miserable as the beggar who knows 
not to-day where he is to get his brown crust to-mor- 
row." 

His mother here giving him a brightened look, as if 
to say, " Yes, indeed, all this is but too true, my son," 
he thus went on. — " Yes, mother ; and look here at my 
dear father : he is all that he wishes me to be, that is, 
a great and prosperous man — he is high admiral of the 
British navy — a great favourite at court — has his town 
houses and country houses, his clocks and carpets, his 
rich plate and gilt coaches, and, in short, every thing 
that his heart can wish ; and yet, mother, what is he 
the better for it all ? O where's his happiness, that 
' one thing needful^'' which certainly every reasonable 
being should propose to himself as the only true end 
of all his riches and grandeur ? Where his meekness 
and sweetness of spirit ? and where's that majesty 
and charm of goodness which expresses true love ? 
O if he loved God truly, would he not rather a thou- 
sand times see me, like Moses, ready to suffer persecu- 
tion with the people of God^ than enjoy eveti in a palace^ 
the pleasures of sin, which are but for a season ! And if 
he loved me truly, would he not a thousand tinies 
rather see me pass my moment of earthly being in the 
sweet and safe vallies of humility and innocence, thaa 
on the dangerous mountains of pride and worldly 
mindedness ?" 

Such truths from the lips of an only son whom she 



WILLIAM PENN. 47 

sd delighted in, contributed greatly to comfort Mrs. 
Penn in this affliction. So, after some pause of sweet 
and grateful thought, she said, " Well, William, what 
will you answer to your father to-morrow concerning 
the requirement he made of you just now T" 

" Why, mother," answered William very firmly, " I 
will never forsake God. I owe him every thing : yes^ 
my dear mother, as you so often told me, when I was 
a child at your knee, I owe God every thing ; and feel 
that I ought to give myself back to him. And besides, 
he alone is worthy of my affections, and he alone can 
to all eternity give me that mighty happiness I was 
created for. I am determined, therefore, never to 
'eave him, nor to form any connexion that may jeopar- 
dize my devotion to him." 

As Mrs. Penn was too well acquainted with her 
husband's temper to cherish the most distant hope 
that he would ever relax one iota of his threats, she 
began to study how William should be disposed of, 
when turned out of doors by his father, which she 
foresaw was inevitable. Several expedients were pro- 
posed ; but that finally adopted by them both, was, 
that he should go into Buckinghamshire, and live with 
her mother, until his father's anger should be turned 
away from him. 

The expulsion of a child, an only child, and that a 
son so faultless and beloved, is an idea so unnatural, 
that most mothers would sicken and turn from it with 
horror. Fortunately for Mrs. Penn, her soul wa& 
greatened by religion. She had ever wished above all 
things that her son should be a lover of God. But still 
she had fondly hoped that, together with this greatest 
of all honours, he might enjoy the honours of this 
world too. And though it was a sad disappointment 
that this could not be ; and that he must give up the 
one or the other, it still afforded her inexpressible 
satisfaction, that her dear boy, young as he was, yet 
possessed faith sufficient to trample the world under 



48 THE LIFE OF 

his feet, when it came in competition with his duty to 
God. Such were the thoughts which accompanied 
this amiable mother to her pillow, there sweetly to 
revolve that security and peace which she had such 
good reason to hope would attend her son through 
life. "Wilham may not be great ; but, which is far bet- 
ter, he will, I trust, be good ; and though fools may 
account his life to be madness^ and his end ivithout ho- 
nour^ yet I hope heHl be numbered among the sons of 
God, and his lot among the saints.'''' Nor did William 
pass that night in such sleepless trouble as might 
have been expected. 'Tis true, that as he pulled ofi^ 
his clothes to go to bed, he felt a strange shock at the 
thought that this night might be the last night he should 
ever pass in that dear chamber. And when he looked 
around him on his venerable forefathers, whose pic- 
tures were hanging on the wall, the idea that he was 
about to be exiled from their family, and by his own 
father, too, occasioned a sudden sinking at heart. But, 
favoured youth ! his eye was singly fixed on God, and 
on the glory of doing his will ; and thenceforth sprung 
up that '•'■peace which passeth all understanding.'''^ 
In this frame of mind he sought his bed, where, 
amidst thoughts soft as the summer moon-beams that 
silvered the bosom of night, he composed himself to 
sleep, happy as the youthful sailor-boy who, amidst 
his descending slumbers, hears, without alarm, the 
crash of surrounding billows, because he remembers 
that his ship is of the strong-ribbed oak and iron, 
and that his father, a skilful pilot, presides at the all- 
directing helm. 



WILLIAM PENN. 49 

CHAPTER X. 

The next day, immediately after breakfast, which 
was passed in perfect silence, the looks of the admiral 
and Mrs. Penn expressing most eloquently their respec- 
tive characters — his the angry sternness of parental 
authority disputed, and hers all the solicitudes of con- 
jugal respect artd maternal tenderness combined. Soon 
as breakfast was over, the admiral, taking his lady and 
William into his study, with a constrained kindness 
thus addressed the latter : — " William, you are my 
child, my only child, the child of all my affections and 
of all my hopes. I feel, therefore, that I must be most 
Unhappy if I part from you, and especially by your 
own unduti fulness. I hope you have thought seriously 
of these things. Now will you go back to the Univer- 
sity, and, by proper concessions, recover your honour- 
able standing, and also renouncing Tom Loe and his 
silly quakers, return to the bosom of the estxVBlished 

CHURCH ?" 

With all the meekness yet firmness of an honest 
quaker, William replied, that he had " turned his 
thoughts to the light within ; and that while he felt, with 
exceeding affection, how much he owed to his earthly 
father, he owed still more to his heavenly, and there- 
fore could never offend him, by 'sinning against the 
light, and endangering his own soul." 

" Well, then, you will not go back to the establish- 
ed CHURCH !" replied the admiral, angrily. 

" While my present convictions remain, father, I can 
never leave the quakers." 

" Well then, sir," rejoined the admiral, quite dark 
with rage, " you must leave me :" and ordered him in- 
stantly to quit the house. 

Deeming it fruitless to reply or remonstrate, William 
took up his hat and went out of the room, leaving his 
father in a frame of mind not to be envied. His eyes 
E 



50 THE LIFE OF 

on fire — his motions furious and convulsive — and his 
face alternately deformed with deadly red and pale, a 
true index of the stormy passions within. He has turn- 
ed out of doors his only child — has turned him out in 
helpless inexperienced youth — not for any crime that 
he has done, nor for the shadow of a crime, but only for 
wishing to be more devout — he sees 1»he eyes of his 
son, glistening on him through tears, as he goes away — 
he hears the clap of the door behind him, and the sound 
of his departing feet, as it dies away along the descent 
of steps. All is silent, save the cries of his mother in 
her distant chamber, for her '•^ poor banished hoy.'^'' He 
rolls his eyes around him on his spacious halls and 
splendid furniture. " Sideboards ! and clocks ! and pic^ 
tures ! what are you all to a wounded spirit /" 

To be wretched in poverty and obscurity were no- 
thing. There would be no sting of disappointment to 
evenom the smart. But to be wretched in spite of 
titles — in spite of court favours — in spite of all his 
branching honours and golden treasures ! this is hel} 
unmixed. Alas ! poor man ! He is miserable but knows 
not the cause. He knows not that it proceeds, as his 
own child had told him, from lack of humility an(J 

LOVE. 

But leaving the admiral and his grand castle and 
gaudy carpets, to confirm the words of eternal truth, 
that " a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of 
the things he possesseth," let us see what has become 
of William. Like the first ancestor, Adam, turned 
out of Paradise, so fared it with the youthful Penn, 
expelled from his father's house, " some natural tears he 
shed^ but wiped them soon.'''' His conscience was clear ^ 
his heart was cheered ; so, deep inhaling the luxom 
air, and breathing his pious ejaculations to heaven, 
he sprung forward to his journey, fully trusting in the 
promise that " all things shall work together for good 
to them that love God." His course, according to the 
aforesaid concert with his mother, was towards " tht 



WILLIAM PENN. 51 

traveller's rest,'^'' in Buckinghamshire, the elegant and 
hospitable mansion of his grandmother, who received 
him with exceeding joy. This great lady was pious in 
an uncommon degree ; and having, just as William ar- 
rived, got a letter from her daughter, stating at large 
the history of this extraordinary transaction, she was 
so charmed with him on account of his early piety, that 
her eyes sparkled on him with pleasure. " What^ my 
dear, dear child,'''' said she, pressing him to her bosom, 
— " sweet image of your mother ! — turn you out of doors 
because you could not content yourself with being a poor 
dead formalist and hypocrite ! Oh my Lord what will 
this world come to ! parents turn their children out of 
doors ordy because they 7vish to be God's children! 
And worse still, can bear to see their children bloated 
with pride, pale with envy, burning with rage ^ and yet 
think them good enough rf they have but been baptized, 
go regularly to church, say their prayers after the priest, 
and take the sacrament ! Oh ! what signify all these 
proud titles, and grand castles, and court-smiles, when 
their owners can be so blind and miserable /" I kave 
not been able to ascertain how much time William 
passed in the society of his excellent grandmother ; 
but it is more than probable that the days of his exile 
w^ere not many. The heart of his father yearned to- 
w^ards his ruddy-cheeked boy ; and this tender attrac- 
tion, added to the eloquence of his lady's importuni- 
ties, soon prevailed. William was, of course, recalled 
home, to the infinite joy of the whole family; not ex- 
cepting the servants, who doted on him ; for from his 
childhood, he was remarkable for his affectionate spirit 
to that despised class of people ; always speaking to 
them with great tenderness, and often making them 
little presents — his excellent mother purposely fur- 
nishing him the means. 

Finding that his seriousness still stuck to him, his 
father proposed to him a trip to Paris, begging he 
would make himself master of the French language, 



52 THE LIFE OF 

which he said was ahoays to his ear like miisic. But the 
adiiiirars principal motive was to divert his mind from 
what he called his fanaticism ; with the hope, too, 
that from the mixture of William's extreme gravity^ as 
he thought, with the excessive gaiety of the French, 
there would arise a iertium quid, a happy mediocrity 
of manners, that would render him the delight of the 
nation. To give this pill a richer gilding, and to ren- 
der it more imposing on William's palate, the adm.iral 
took advantage of a party of young noblemen going 
over to the French capital ; so dressing him up in the 
richest apparel, yet, as William begged, of a plain 
fashion, and tilling his pockets with money and let- 
ters of introduction to great men, he packed him off 
for France. 



CHAPTER XI. 

The admiral was not altogether disappointed in his 
calculations on the result of William's trip to France. 
The balmy softness of the climate — the rich variety 
and beauty of its scenes — its silver flood smoothly glid- 
ing along the verdant meadows, or boldly rushing 
through romantic hills adorned with clustering vines 
and snow-white castles, contributed much to dissipate 
the gloom occasioned by his late persecution. But 
far more exhilarating still v/ere the manners of its in- 
habitants. William's natural bias was benevolence. 
The hand that made him had so kindly attuned his 
nerves to the harmonies of moral beauty, that every 
look and note of love awakened his soul to joy. Then 
among what people on earth could he have fallen with 
such chance of fascination as among the French ? That 
extraordmary people, who study no science but to 
please — who forget themselves, to make others happy-^ 



WILLIAM PENN. 53 

and who with all they do, mingle so much of suavity and 
endearment, that whether they frown or smile, whether 
they grant or refuse, they almost equally oblige : for 
they frown with such delicacy, and refuse with such 
grace, that all must fall in love with them. William 
Penn fell in love with them. And as love naturally 
assimilates itself to the beloved, he quickly, as the 
apostle enjoins, in things indifferent, " became all things 
to them^''^ — he learned their language with the facility 
of a mocking-bird — he caught their manners by instinct 
— his limbs forgot their proud British stiffness — and 
his muscles their cold unlovely rigidity — and whether 
he stood or moved ; whether he bowed or smiled ; in 
standing, moving, bowing and smiling, shone forth the 
elegant and all accomplished Frenchman. 

It was in this style that William, after twelve 
months' absence, presented himself before his father 
at Pennwood. Tlie admiral was quite delighted with 
this " charming change,'''' as he observed to Mrs. Penn, 
" that had taken place in William's appearance.'''' He 
introduced him at court — he carried him about as 
in triumph among all his illustrious friends — and for 
fear he should relapse into his old gloomy ways, as he 
termed them, he resolved to send him over at once 
to Ireland, to take the management of an estate that 
had lately fallen to him in the neighbourhood of Dub- 
lin, the metropolis. And to insure him a full round 
of dissipation, his pockets were filled with letters 
from the admiral's court friends, introducing him in 
the most flattering terms, to the lord lieutenant and 
his numerous friends, the great ones of Dublin. I'he 
calculation from all this was, that if William, now put 
into such a hopeful way, by the polite and sweetly 
mannered French, could but be associated for a season 
with the gay and warm-hearted Irish, he would be con- 
firmed an elegant man of the world beyond the power 
of superstition to shake him. 

The packet-boat soon wafted young William over 

E 2 



54 THE LIFE OF 

to Ireland, where he commenced the career prescribed 
by his father, with great spirit. He apphed himself 
very diligently to the settlement of his estate ; visiting 
and spending his intervals of leisure in the society of 
the lord lieutenant and his friends, who paid uncom- 
mon attention to him as an amiable young man, and 
the only son and heir of sir William Penn, high admi- 
ral of the British navy. It is no where said that Wil- 
liam ever followed this fashionable " multiiiide to do 
evil :" but it is well known that many who began well 
in the spirit, and once stood fair for heaven, have 
miserably ended in the flesh, and become cast-away. 
And this might have been the deplorable end of young 
William Penn, had not God in great goodness sent one 
of his shepherds after him. 1 ascribe it to the divine 
goodness, for I cannot otherwise account for an event 
that manifests too much design to be called accidentaL 
Sitting one evening in the lord lieutenant's palace, and 
easting his eye on a Dublin paper, his attention was 
caught by a NOTICE, that "one of the people 
CALLED Quakers was to preach in the market- 
house THE next day." Though William had, for some 
time past, conformed rather too much to the world, 
yet he had never lost his partiality for the quakers ; 
and therefore immediately resolved to go to meeting. 
On the rising of the preacher to speak, whom should 
iiis eyes behold, but the smooth and placid countenance 
of his old friend Thomas Loe ? nor was friend Loe less 
surprised, as looking round him like a father about to 
address his children, his mildly-beaming glances met 
the florid cheeks of his young friend William Penn. 
From the professions v/hich William, with tears, had 
made him tvvo years before ; and also from the severe 
persecutions which, by report, he had suffered both at 
the University and in his father's own house, friend 
Loe had counted on him as a dear child in the gospel; 
but V/iiliam's fashionaide dress e?:cited his alarms. 
Wiioreai^oii with a coiiiiteaaiicc stroniilv marked with 



WILLIAM PENN. 55 

melancholy and a deep sigh, looking at William, he 
began with these remarkable words, " T^ere is a 
faith which overcometh the world, and there is a faith 
overcome by the world.''"' William was startled. From 
the particular stress, as he thought, laid on the text, 
he felt as though the preacher had taken it entirely for 
him. But if so alarmed at the bare words, how much 
more when friend Loe, with the looks and voice of a 
tender father towards a truant child, went on to e:^- 
pose the folly, the cowardice, and hypocrisy of those 
who, when they hear the great truths of the gospel, 
will show the most fixed attention ; will change colour ; 
will heave the deep si^h and shed the copious tear, thus 
springing joy in the heart of the preacher that a soul 
is born to God f and jet after all these goodly signs 
of faith, can suffer themselves to be overcome by the 
world and its vanities ! To place such guilty conduct 
in a stronger light, he went on to show the wide dif- 
ference between these two kinds of faith. He com- 
pared the one, which he called head-faith, and which 
is overcome by the world, he compared to a light ; but 
only such a light as that of the moon, a cold barren 
light, which, though it please the eye with its silver 
lustre, yet it imparts no heat to the soil ; hence no ve- 
getation appears, and the beholder wonders that the 
fields, though bright, are naked and sad. But the other 
faith, which overcomes the world, and which he called 
HEART-FAITH, he compared to the sun ; a warm 
fertilizing light, which, soon as it falls on the earth, 
sets the grass to grow and covers the fair face of 
nature with fruits and flowers. Even so this heart- 
faith, soon as it fires the soul, vivifies every precious 
seed of virtue, and calls forth all the sweets and charms 
of heavenly affections. He then showed too that as 
head-faith like the moon, is cold and barren, so like 
that orb which belongs only to this low planet, it is 
often obscured in clouds and storms; but tint, HEART- 
FAITH, like iht? Dure sun-beam, conu^s from the place 



^ THE LIFE OF 

of God, and like its source, enjoys perpetual serenity 
and shine. And though its possessor, as a dweller on 
this turbid planet may sometimes feel the shadow ; yet 
it is but transient. For as the heart of the wise can 
well bear the gloom of winter because he sees the 
bloom of opening spring at hand ; so the man of true 
faith regards not " the short afflictions of this life 
which are but for a moment," because his eye is fixed 
upon " that exceedingly great and eternal weight of 
glory that glitters before him." Animated by this he 
looks undismayed on the Jordan of death, and even in 
the last agony smiles as for victory, and whispers, 
through tears of transport, '-^Iwait for thy salvation^ O 
God:' 

Here the cheeks of William began to redden over 
from his labouring heart, and his sighs to thicken, while 
pearly drops, such as angels love to see in mortal 
eyes, came trickling down. But still the lips of friend 
Loe continued to pour their honied streams of holy 
eloquence, as burning in his zeal he went on to show 
the widely different effects of these two kinds of faith, 
even in the life that now is — that while the one is 
held in derision even of the wicked world, by whom 
it is overcome, the other is honoured even by the 
wicked world whom it tramples under foot — that while 
the one suffers the mortification of shameful defeat, 
the other enjoys the triumph of the most glorious victo- 
ry — that while the one dies amidst the horrors of de- 
spair, the other expires in extasies of hope — and that 
while the one shall come forth to shame and everlast- 
ing contempt, the other shall awake to all the trans- 
ports o^ eternal life. 

As the fearful difference between vice and virtue 
were hardly ever painted in more pathetic colours 
than by this pious quaker, so, rarely has such paint- 
ing produced a deeper effect on the pupil of wisdom 
than in the case now before us ; for soon as the ser- 
mon was ended, young William, with the sweet dejec- 



WILLIAM PENN. 57 

turn of conscious guilt reclaimed, drew near the man 
of God, and taking him by the hand, acknowledged 
that, though he had not been entirely overcome by the 
world, yet he feared, he said, he had conformed too 
much to its vanities ; but now, hoped, through the help 
of that good spirit which bringeth salvation, he should 
be established for ever. Thomas Loe, looking on him 
with a countenance kind as when an angel looks on 
the tender babe, and with tones of equal sweetness, 
said, — I hope my young friend thee will keep in mind 
the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, "the ser- 
vant is not greater than his Lord" — " If the world 
hated him," who was the perfection of goodness, 
" they will hate thee if thou become his follower." 
But remember, friend William, never canst thou love 
thyself as God loves thee ; never canst thou desire 
thine own happiness as God desires it. O then me- 
ditate on SUCH LOVE, and far above all things in hea- 
ven or earth, strive to get thy whole soul inflamed 
with it. Then shall God himself enter into the palace 
of thy heart, and " sup with thee, and thou shall sup 
with him.'''' 

In uttering these words he pressed William to his 
bosom with all the fervent tenderness of a father ; add- 
ing at the same time, while the tear hung ghstening in 
his eyes, " God be gracious to thee my son, and give 
thee wisdom like Jacob to wrestle with God, and also 
to prevail." 

This was to William a day of the sweetest emotions 
he had ever known. 

Joy sprung up afresh in his heart, the joy of glori- 
ous hope, far beyond what the young seaman feels 
when becalmed on his voyage to some golden coast, 
suddenly a sweet breeze of the ocean springs up, and 
borne along upon the curling billows he beholds the 
happy shores of the long promised land, all brightening 
before him. O how rare is that preacher, whose eyes, 
whose voice, whose every gesture preach.es to the 



68 THE LIFE OF 

souls of his hearers ! Wilham, young as he was, could 
not but mark this preaching in Thomas Loe. He could 
not but mark the wonderful ditference which religion 
makes between a stranger who possesses it, and one's 
own father who is destitute. " Fe^," thought he to 
himself, " when struck by this good marl's preaching I 
first felt my unhappy state by nature^ and wished to seek 
to God for comfort^ my own dear father instead of con- 
gratulating smiles^ gave me nothing but angry frowns ^ 
and even thrust me from his door ! But here this good 
quaker^ though an absolute stranger, seeing my infant 
wishes to return to God, is moved even to tears of joy 
on my account, and presses me with a mother''s tender- 
ness to his heart. then how God-like a thing must 
religion be! How certainly must that fit for the society 
of angels hereof ter, which makes men so much like an- 
gels here.''"' Such were Wilham's thoughts on his way 
from the meeting, I hardly need tell the reader that 
William was now in no frame of mind to go back, as 
he had been pressed, to the lord lieutenant's, and to 
the giddy and gay 07ies, at his palace. From the re- 
ligious impressions early made on him by his mother 
in the nursery, and afterwards deepened at college by 
friend Loe, William may be said to have always had 
a turn for those dignified pleasures which naturally 
beget a disrelish for trifles. To see young gentlemen 
reddening into indecent passion about the "minister 
and his measures," or about stage boxes and fen- 
cing MASTERS ! or to scc youug ladies tossing their 
snowy arms, and rolling their diamond eyes in extasies 
of 7vonderful opera dancers ; or stage players. — 
These, though the two ordinary themes of conversation 
in high life, had always seemed to him very uninterest- 
ing. But in this present holy and heavenly frame of 
mind, the very idea of them was so disgusting, that he 
declined going back, as we have seen, to the lord lieu- 
tenant's ; and indeed studiously avoided many of the 
great families in Dubhn, because they took no delight 



WILLIAM PENN. 59 

in talking of God and those great subjects which he 
most of all delighted in. — This seclusion of his was soon 
noticed by the hospitable lord lieutenant and the gay 
circles of the metropolis, who presently began with much 
impatience to ask, " where is young Mr. Perm .^" In a 
little time the fatal secret came out, that — he was 
turned quaker. The report spread a general gloom 
among his Irish friends. And no wonder. William 
was now about eighteen : the very season when youth, 
rising into manhood, enjoys the double charm of ten- 
derness mixed with dignity, rendering the character pe- 
culiarly interesting : this, added to a masculine mind 
sharpened by a tine education — pohshed by Galhc 
manners — and above all finished by a quaker sweet- 
ness, had rendered him very dear to the lord lieu- 
tenant and his wealthy friends ; independent of his 
rank and fortune as the only child and heir of Sir Wil- 
liam Penn, high admiral of the British navy. The loss 
of such a young man to their society could not but 
have excited a deep regret on their ovm accounts, 
mingled too with some contempt of him for joining a 
people who, in those days, were so much despised. 
It was not long before the admiral learned this most 
unwelcome piece of news. It came, in the way of 
letters, to his friends in London, all speaking in the 
most flattering terms of William, and expressing their 
sincere sorrow that a youth so amiable, and of such 
high promise, should have throwri himself away after 
this most unaccountable rate. The admiral came 
home quite in a fever about it. Mrs. Penn seeing his 
agitation, eagerly asked him what was the matter ? 

Matter ! replied he abruptly, matter enough to run 
a parent mad ! that silly hoy of ours will be the death of 
me, thafs a clear case. 

" Why, what has he done now ?'' said Mrs. Penn, 
much startled. 

Done ! returned the admiral, why he has fallen in 
with Tom Loe, who has made a fool of him again 



60 THE LIFE OF 

Well, I hope William has not neglected the business 
you sent him to Ireland upon. 

Why no, he has not suiiered Tom Loe to make him 
such a fool as that. On the contrary, I learn from' 
a variety of quarters that he is a prodigy of industry. 

O, well then, said Mrs. Penn cheerfully, while his 
religion keeps him innocent and industrious, we need 
not much trouble ourselves about him. 

No, indeed ! replied the admiral hastily ; now that's 
the very reason I choose to trouble myself about him^ 
A youth of his genius and education, with the advan- 
tages of such rank and friends and industry, my God 
what might he not do ! How easily might he become; 
one of the greatest men of his age. And such he shal^ 
be, Pm determined on it. Pll write for liim to come" 
home immediately. And if he doesn't ''bout ship and g(y 
upon ariotker tack, Pll disinherit him, that's the long and 
short of it. I'll not keep in this hot water any longer. If 
he choose to despise me and run after Tom Loe, he- 
must do it, but he shall never see my face again. 



CHAPTER XII. 

If his infant son were suddenly lost in some wild 
wood, where dark pit-falls gaped, and ravenous beasts 
lay in wait to devour, what father but would instantly 
rush forth, with throbbing heart, in search of him ? 
And if happily his listeniiig ear but caught tlie feeble 
meanings of his child ; or he beheld him at a distance 
with bleeding feet winding his tortured way through 
piercing thorns, would he not fly to the dear rescued 
boy, and, clasping him with transport to his bosom, 
kiss away the pearly drops from his bloated eyes ? Yes, 
such would be the joy of this world towards a child 
saved from the deaths that threaten the body. But, 



WILLIAM PENN. 61 

alas ! to save him from that which would destroy the 
soul ; to save him from envy, hate, and all the hag- 
gard passions which inflict wounds and deaths beyond 
the rage and venom of serpents and tigers, no such 
solicitude is felt. And this often causes the hearts 
of good men to bleed within them, that when a younc^ 
person in the wilderness of this world is brought to a 
sense of his danger, and wishes to fly to his God, in- 
stead of being met by his friends with tears of joy con- 
gratulating his happy escape, he is often frowned 
upon and driven back to sin and hell. Such was the 
treatment shown to young William Penn by his father, 
and at a t'me too when he stood most in need of every 
encouragement. He v/as at a great distance from home^ 
and from a pious mother whom he doted on. He was 
spending his days in diligent attention to his father's 
business, and his nights in reading and devotion by 
himself; for he had no kind friend to commune with^ 
no kindred soul to comfort and strengthen him. In 
the midst of this, he receives a letter from home. But 
that letter, instead of breathing the joy of a happy fa- 
ther, congratulating his dear boy for being so early in 
the family of God, begins with reproaching him for his 
fanaticism^ and ends with ordering him instantly to 
come home. 

William's spirits were at first, as might have been 
expected, a good deal depressed by this letter ; but the 
depression was only momentary. Religion soon ad- 
ministered her cordial. An ever present God ; a glo- 
rious life in his service now, and an eternal Heaven 
hereafter ; how could he long be sad ? so, packing up 
his clothes and books, and taking leave of a few friends,, 
he set out for London ; not neglecting to strengthen 
himself on the road, by frequent reflection on the truth 
and importance of the hopes before him ; for he foresaw 
that they were to be brought to a severe trial. His 
calculations were abundantly correct ; for while his mo- 
ther received him as usual with transports of joy, his fa- 



62 THE LIFE OF 

ther's countenance was hard and angry ; then scarcely 
allowing time for the customary salutations, he said — 
" and so Tom Loe has taken you in tow, and made a 
fool of you again !" William's face, that had been rosy 
red with joy at sight of his parents, now all at once 
turned pale on hearing these cutting words ; but, soon 
recovered by conscious integrity, he replied, " Yes, 
father I have been with Thomas Loe, but 1 hope that 
instead of making a fool, he will, under God, make a 
wise man of me. 

Yes, to be sure, and there's a pretty sample of it,, 
returned the admiral sarcastically, pointing at Wil- 
liam's simple quaker habit. Tom Loe will no doubt 
make a wonderful wise man of you. In place of your 
handsome dresses brought from Paris, see that ugly 
drab I and that monstrous beaver, broad brimm'd and 
darkening over your brow like an umbrella ! These are 
precious tokens of wisdom ! And is it possible that for 
such stuff as this you can reject such honours as are 
courting you from all quarters ? 

I don't know, father, said William, of any honours- 
that are courting me from all quarters. 

No, indeed ! well then, let me ask you, was there 
ever a young Englishman so talked of at Paris as you 
were all the time you spent there ? And was that no 
honour? And on your return here to London, was 
not the whole town running after you ? — was that no 
honour ? And when you went to Dubhn, did a single 
mail ever come over but brought letters from the lord 
lieutenant and the great ones there, all extolling you 
to the skies — was that no honour ? And now what 
nobleman is there in all the land but would glory in 
your friendship ? — what place is there so high but you 
might easily obtain it ? what heiress so wealthy, but 
you might marry her as easily as kiss your hand ? Are 
these no honours ? 

Well, father, said William, these I know are called 
honours : and let them pass for such. But after all» 



WILLIAM PENN. 63 

what would they signify to me, unless they made me 
happy ? 

God's mercy on the boy, cried the admiral, getting 
angry, what would you want more than all this to make 
you happy ! 

Why, as to that, father, you know that to be happy 
we must have what suits our taste, and that the right 
taste too. But I am morally certain, that while I keep 
my present taste, I shall never be happy, if I have no- 
thing better than great worldly riches and rank. I feel, 
father, that I am born for better things than these. 

Well, but what's the reason you can't take these 
things and those better ones too ? 

That's impossible, sir. There's no going to heaven 
in " golden slippers." 

But why, in the name of God, can't you be good 
and happy as a great man, as well as a mean one : 
and by dressing like a gentleman as well as like a 
monk 1 Can Tom Loe have made such a blockhead 
of you, as to make you believe it a sin to wear a suit 
of clothes in the fashion ? 

Father, the quakers don't stand upon the fashions. 

And pray why don't they ; can they be such fools 
as to think that religion has any thing to do with the 
€olour and cut of people's clothes?' 

The quakers think, father, that religion has to do 
with every thing that tends to God's pleasure or dis- 
pleasure, in the happiness or misery of man. 

Well, and what has this to do with the fashion ? 

Why, certainly, father, to set the heart upon the 
fashion, as if it were the chief end of being — to make 
it a great theme of our conversation — to resolve to keep 
up with it no matter what it cost — to honour the 
basest wretch if he have on a fashionable dress — but 
despise the most godlike, because of his mean apparel — 
does not this betray a shameful devotion to trifles ? 
yea, worse still — a horrible insensibilty to the charms 
of goodness, wherein consists our main happiness? 



64 TPIE LIFE OF 

The admiral here remaining silent, as if at a loss 
what to reply, William thus went on, — Yes, father, 
many people I know, think that dress, no matter how 
vain, has nothing to do with religion. But these, sir, 
are looked upon by the quakers, as persons utterly un- 
acquainted with the religion of Christ, which, treating 
the soul as the only divine part of man, is continually 
striving to turn his attention to the care of the soul; 
that by enlightening his understanding with the true 
wisdom, and exalting his affections to the true good, 
it may give him a relish for that happiness which is 
godlike and eternal. Hence it is, sir, that the quakers 
will have nothing to do with the dresses and fashions 
of the world, which only serve to make people childish 
and vain in their minds, and averse from the true hap- 
piness, and likewise so to impoverish their circum- 
stances as to put it out of their power to he honest ; 
yea, and oft times to practise those dark and base 
frauds and villanies which ruin them for ever. 

This being a style of sermonizing rather too stub- 
born for the admiral to gainsay, William was permit- 
ted to go on, which he did at this rate : " Yes, sir, the 
religion of Christ, and consequently the quakers, (its 
expositors in the simplest sense,) will encourage no 
idolatry of the flesh ; being fully persuaded, that in 
proportion as this rises the soul sinks. And what but 
this is the meaning of those awful passages which run 
throughout the religion of Christ — " The flesh lusteth 
apinst the spirit" — " If ye live after the flesh ye shall 
die" — " They that live in fleshly pleasures are dead 
while they live." 

The admiral said it was droll how a man could be 
dead while he lived. 

It is, nevertheless, awfully true, sir, replied William. 
For a creature born with capacities to love God, and 
thereby put on the immortal beauties of his likeness, 
to neglect such ineffable glories as these, and meanly 
pride himself because of fine clothes and gaudy equip 



WlLLIAxM PENN. 65 

age for this poor mortal body, is not such a creature 
dead, while he hveth ? yea, utterly dead to the true 
end of living, that is, happiness ; which consisteth not 
in such unworthy gratifications, but in that perfect love 
which feels the presence of God, banishing all grief 
and kindling a perpetual heaven. Such were Wil- 
liam's arguments ; but all his arguments, cogent and 
conclusive as they were, availed nothing with his fa- 
ther. Indeed they appear to have wrought a very 
contrary effect in him, as, looking on Wilham's person, 
and listening to his speech, he was the more grieved 
to think, that his only child, a youth of such a figure, 
such a mind, such eloquence, and born for the highest 
honours, should become the dupe and castaway, as he 
vCalled it, of the most pitiful and grovelling quakerism. 
In hope yet to avert so great a calamity as he thought 
it, from his family, he resolved to make one more ef- 
fort ; and to try, since argument had failed, what might 
be done by menaces. So, fixing on William a stern 
and angry eye, he said, " Well, sir, I have heard you 
out : and novv^ let me tell you, that with all your in- 
genuity and eloquence you have not started me one 
inch from my moorings ; no, sir, there is no reasoning 
like facts. To say that a man can't be great and yet 
wise and good, is all nonsense. It contradicts daily 
observation, sir. Look at our nobility, sir, our honour- 
ABLES, and RIGHT HONOURABLES^look at our clergy, 
our REVEREND and right reverend, the bishops and 
archbishops ! these are the great ones, sir, of the 
realm ; these are the first talents and titles, the first 
riches and learning of the nation. And will you say 
that none of these are good V 

William, with a modest firmness, replied, that he did 
not take upon him to judge of others, but that he well 
knew this, that Christ every where speaks of the plea- 
sures of filial friendship WITH GoD, as being of a 
nature so entirely different from those that flow from 
Ihe pride, and ambition, and lusts of this poor polluted 
F 2 



66 THE LIFE OF 

world, that they can no more exist together than hghl 
and darkness. And also, that for his own part he could 
truly say, from oft and sad experience, that it was not 
possible for him to enjoy blissful communion with 
God, and at the same time conform to the spirit of the 
world. 

Here the admiral, with looks more angry still, re- 
plied, " I perceive, sir, that you are determined for ever 
to misunderstand me. I don't mean that you should 
conform to the world in any thing base and villanous. 
No, sirrah, I despise that as heartily as you and your 
friend Tom Loe. But I mean that you should con- 
form to the world as our bishops and archbishops do 
— that is, that you should be rich, and great too. And 
guch you shall be, Pm determined on it. And therefore 
let me tell you, sir, that if you do not instantly forsake 
that quaker fool, that Tom Loe and his principles, 
you must no longer look on yourself as a son of mine. 

William appeared much shocked. But after some 
pause, observed, that his father must, to be sure, do as 
he thought proper ; but at the same time, he could not 
help humbly craving his father's reasons for his dislike 
of Thomas Loe. Is he not acknowledged, sir, said 
William, to be a holy man, against whom not even his 
bitterest enemies can say any harm ? And as to his 
principles, are they not the simple expressions of the 
humbfe and benevolent spirit the gospel ? And after 
all, sir, continued William, what harm has Thomas 
Loe ever done me ? on the contrary, indeed, have vve 
not great cause to be thankful on his account ? 

Thankful on Tom Loe's account I retorted the ad- 
miral quite in a rage. A plague on him ! what has he 
brought on us but trouble and vexation ever since his 
vile name was heard by the family. 

I think, sir, replied Wilham, modestly, that, under 
God, 1 owe Thom.as Loe much for what he contri- 
buted towards the comparative innocency of my life, 
at college. 



WILLIAM PENN. 67 

Yon pay no great compliment to myself or your 
mother, in saying that, sir. Did you not go to college 
as innocent a youth as any in the realm '{ and do you 
thank Tom Loe for that ? 

But, sir, replied William, was not the preservation of 
my innocence a great blessing? And that I have been 
less disgraced by vice than many other young men, as 
well at the University as in the large and dissipated 
cities wherein I was so early exposed, 1 feel myself, 
chiefly indebted to the affectionate and powerful elo- 
quence of Thomas Loe. For considering my weak- 
ness of youth and inexperience, and separated too as I 
was from you and my mother, had it not been for the 
strong hold which his discourses took on my heart, I 
do not see how I should have withstood that torrent 
of bad example which swept away so many of those 
once amiable young men who came to college as inno- 
cent as myself. So I think, sir, that if you love me 
and prize my honour and happiness, you ought to 
love Thomas Loe, who was to me, of God, the good 
guardian angel that in your absence saved me from 
much disgrace. 

I am sure, retorted the admiral, you have no great 
cause to brag of his saving you from disgrace at the 
University ; for it was all owing to him, that you came 
by the disgrace of being expelled. 

Yes, sir, replied William, blushing, I own I was ex- 
pelled from the University, and that too through 
Thomas Loe : but still it was not for any vice, that I 
should either hate him or abhor myself. It was for 
an act of zeal, iyitemperate indeed, but still well meant 
and flowing from a love for the young men whose vain 
ornaments I assisted to tear oiF. I confess it was error ^ 
but thank God not shameful vice, such as many others 
have been expelled for. And therefore I shall always 
thank God for the poor quaker Thomas Loe, that 
while many other young men have been expelled for 
drunkenness, I have drank nothing but water — that 



SB THE LIFE OF 

while others have been expelled for gambling, I never 
touched a card — that while others have been expelled 
for commerce with lewd women, 1 have been unspot- 
ted from the world — that while others, though great 
sticklers for the high church, have run their fathers to 
large ■expense for horses,, and dogs, and gaudy dresses, 
and balls, and masquerades^ I have never brought any 
cost upon you for these things — and that while many 
others, because their fathers were rich, have thought 
themselves privileged to be lazy, I have, thank God, 
in my studies at college, and in acquiring the French 
language at Paris, and the law at the Inner Temple, 
and in settling your business in Ireland^have done all 
I could to please you. But, continued William, though 
my earthly father may forget my honest endeavours 
to please him, yet I have the promise that my heaven- 
ly father will enter in his book of life every good act 
that I perform from a single eye to his glory. And as 
to my poor quaker friend, Thomas Loe, against whom 
you have taken up such a dislike, let me once more 
assure you, father, that he has never weakened but 
greatly strengthened me in all my duties. And above all., 
he has taught me that, to do good for evil is the end 
of the religion of Christ ; and that I am not to look for the 
crown hereafter if I do not cheerfully bear the cross here, 
" Phev3 P"* returned the admiral with a tremendous 
whistle, as of a boatswain, calling all hands on deck, 
" why, Tom Loe has made a preacher of you already ! 
Well, go on, young man, go on with your canting. 
But let me tell you that all this, and all your cross- 
bearing to boot, though it might have done in former 
times, is all mere nonsense now.-^Yes, people may 
be rich and great in this world, and take their plea- 
sures too, and yet after all go to heaven. Many of 
our lords, both temporal and spiritual,, are daily doing 
it, to ray own certain knowledge, and so may you : yes, 
and you shall do it too, let me tell you that, or be no 
son of mine. If you are determined to go and play 



WILLIAM PENN. 5^ 

the fool, you must go and do it some where else; you shall 
not do it in my family. And as 1 have had no hand in 
your folly, so I will not be eternally suffering the mor- 
tification of it, that I am determined on." 

William, of course, was turned out of his father's 
doors. Bat though the admiral endeavoured to screen 
himself from the reproaches of his own conscience, 
and also from those of the world for this most unnatu- 
ral act, yet it was abundantly plain, from his looks 
and motions, that inhumanity is a breach of the eter- 
nal law, (of love) never to be reconciled to the moral 
sense. — " Honour ! honour !" cries the infuriated du- 
ellist, as he is about to murder his fellow man ; but 
does the monster ever enjoy sweet peace afterwards ? 
So, no plea that pride can prefer will ever silence that 
voice of God in the soul of man, which ceaselessly 
cries against cruelty. The admiral was a proof of all 
this. Even in the act of driving William from home 
his every look evinced the torture of a soul engaged 
in the horrid work of self-murder. Nor did the rolling 
in his bosom subside with the storm that had excited 
it. For after the son was gone, the father was seen 
striding about the apartment dark and angry in his 
looks ; and often stroking down his whiskers, as it is 
said he was v^ront, when going into battle. Nor was 
his anguish diminished by the melancholy looks of the 
servants as they passed by him in silence, and still less 
by the cries of his lady, in the adjoining room, bewail- 
ing her '-'•poor exiled sonP'' After some time he went 
into her chamber where she lay a crying on the bed, 
her face muffled up in the clothes. He sat down by 
her side to console her ; but she turned her face still 
more away. He repeated his tender efforts ; but with 
no better success. Such treatment from an elegant 
wife whom he doted on, stung him to the quick. At 
length after a gloomy silence, he clasped his hands and 
lifting his eyes of mingled grief and rage, he exclaim- 
ed—" Mv God ! what a life is this !" 



70 THE LIFE OF 

She making no reply, he still went on — " and here 
have I been all my miserable days, striving through 
toils and tempests, through fightings and blood, to raise 
my poor family to something : and after all have only 
got to a serious doubt, whether I had not better be dead 
than alive ; whether I had not better at once cut my 
throat than bear this cursed state any longer." 

Alarmed at such expressions, Mrs. Penn half raised 
herself from the bed, and turning to the admiral 
with much of wildness in her red, tear-bathed eyes, 
said, " wht/^ Mr. Penn, why will you make use of such 
dreadful language." 

Mortal man, replied he, never had better right to use 
«uch language ; yes, and ten times worse if I but knew 
where to find it. I wanted to make my son, my only 
gon, a great man, but he won't hear of it. 1 wanted 
to comfort you and you wont afl*ow me to comfort 
you. 

*' Comfort !" answered she, with a deep sigh, " donH 
talk to me of comfort. I was never born to enjoy com- 
fort in this world. I had but one child, and he every 
thing that my heart and soul could desire, and yet his 
life and mine too have been made bitter to us both ever 
since he was born," 

" Well, whose fault is it," cried the admiral, furious- 
ly, " whose fault is it but his own, a poor, sneaking, 
mean-spirited blockhead !" 

" Don't call him so," said Mrs. Penn, " for I have 
Jieard you say, a thousand times, he was a boy of ge- 
jiius." 

" A boy of genius ! yes, the boy has genius ; and a 
fine genius too ; but what signifies his genius ? what 
signifies his education, and all his other rare advan- 
tages, if, like a poor fool as he is, he won't improve 
ihem, won't let them make a great man of him ?" 

" A great man of him !" exclaimed she. " Ah my 
iaod ! there's what I fear will be the downfall of us 
:all, A great man of him indeed !" 



WILLIAM PENN, tf 

** Yes,'' replied the admiral, " 1 want to make a 
great man of your son. And pray what can be more 
natural ? Isn^t that the aim of the whole world ? An't 
the poor constantly aiming to become rich ? and the 
rich to become nobles ? and the nobles to become 
kings ? and kings to become greater and greater still ?" 

" Yes, Mr. Penn, and it is the aiming at this sort of 
greatness that has filled the earth with so many wretch- 
ed beings." 

" What do you mean by that ?" 

" Why, do not the holy scriptures assure us, that 
it was by aiming at a greatness of this sort that our first 
parents lost Paradise, and filled the world with sin and 
death ? Nay, was it not by aiming at this sort of great- 
ness that Satan and his angels lost their high place ia 
heaven and sunk to hell ?" 

" But how does that apply V* 

" Why, Mr. Penn, is not this greatness of riches,, and 
pomps, and places, all from pride, and not for happi- 
ness — which is the only end that rational creatures 
should propose to themselves in all their actions ? 
And, therefore, did not that dear child, whom you just 
now turned out of doors, did he not ask you ' what 
is the true end of greatness but happiness?' And if he 
thought that the greatness you so press upon hii» 
would not make him happy, was he not in the right to- 
despise it?" 

" Despise greatness !" exclaimed the admiraL 

" Yes, Mr. Penn, such greatness as that. I honour 
my son for despising it ; for what is the greatness that 
consists merely in possessing great town houses and 
country houses — in entertaining great lords and ladies 
— in having our gates constantly thronged with coaches 
and chariots — wasting the day in idle visitings, and the 
night in plays and cards — not an hour to call ourown^ 
but all swallovi^ed up in one continued round of hurry 
and dissipation — and all this, too, among the vain and 
WORTHLESS, whosc manners are childishly frivoloui v 



7^ THE LIFE OF 

whose conversation is about nothing but fashions and 
slander ; whose looks ever wear the simper of folly or 
the sadness of discontent and envy ; and who court us 
not from friendship, as we well know, but from vanity 
and convenience because we are rich ; and would de- 
sert us on the first reverse of our fortunes."" 

"You draw a very pretty picture of the great, 1 
think, madam." 

" Yes, Mr. Penn, but not one shade too black, nor, 
indeed, half black enough. For, contemptible a& such 
a life may seem, yet there are thousands who, when 
enslaved to it, like poor drunkards to their cups, will 
sacrifice every thing to keep it up ; will gamble, and 
forge, and even rob on the highway ! yes, and will 
beggar and disgrace their wives and children, to pre* 
serve only a show of such pitiful greatness. And, be- 
cause our dear boy was blessed with the rare wisdom 
and fortitude to discover and abhor such madness, you 
could turn him out of doors, even in the tender and 
helpless morning of his days !" 

Here the admiral begged his w^ife to talk no more 
at that rate, for that he loved William very dearly,, 
though he had turned him out of doors. Nay, that he 
had treated him in this way altogether out of love, that 
he might constrain him into his views, and make some- 
thing of him. 

" Make something of him !" cried Mrs. Penn, " Q 
my God ! that you should possess one of the richest 
blessings in all this world, and yet not know it ; I 
mean a pious child. For O ! what on all this earth 
can be matter of such joy and triumph to a fond 

Farent as a pious child ?" To me it was every things 
thought of nothing else. I prayed for nothing else. 
* Vain, delusive riches and honours P I said, come not 
near my son. You are jiot one-ten thousandth part goo-d 
enough for him. Only let my son love God. Only let 
him have this, the smeetest spur to every virtue^ the 
strongest curb from every vice, the best cordial under 



WILLIAM PENN. 73 

every affliction^ and I ask no more P Well, God, in 
his infinite mercy, heard my prayer. He gave me 
that which I esteem above all worlds — a pious son. 
And lo ! you turn him out of doors ! He has not ambi- 
tion enough ! he won't be rich enough ! nor great 
enough to please you ! O what millions would not 
many of our rich and great friends here in London 
give if their sons had but half his virtues ! — There's 
the rich lord Sterling ! — His eldest son and heir of all, 
can't dine abroad, but he must be brought home 
drunk ! and his face is now so bloated and tiery, that 
his friends are ashamed to look at him ! — There's the 
great lady Warwick ! — Her only son crippled and 
shortly to die, mortally wounded in a duel ! — There's 
the earl of Coventry ! — His only son sneaking about 
the house, like a blackguard, for losing at cards in a 
single week Mij thousand pounds left him by an 
aunt ! — And there's young lord Spencer ! though heir 
to a dukedom, and covered over with stars and 
garters, yet eaten up in youth, of foul diseases ! — In 
short, what with drunkenness, or duelling, or gambling, 
or raking, or some other detestable vice, there's hardly 
one in ten of all our great families but is shrouded in 
melancholy. Fathers, mothers, and sisters, through- 
out the town, mourning their disgraced and ruined 
sons and brothers. And here, amidst all this shame 
and sorrow, our child, our only dear child, not only 
not disgraced with such vices, but adorned with all 
the opposite virtues — harmless as an infant ! temperate 
as a saint ! devout as an angel ! and yet, in place of 
shouting incessant praises to God on his dear account, 
you turn him out of doors ! O Mr. Penn, Mr. Penn, 
can you ever forget that look he gave you when taking 
up his hat to go away, as you ordered him, he said, 
" Father^ had I been turned out of your doors because 
of any crimes I had done, I should be wretched indeed. 
But, thanks to God^ I go away with a conscience un- 
stained by an act that should came, you or my diar mo- 
G 



74 THE LIFE OF 

ther^ to blush for me." Here she burst into a flood of 
tears. But it was plain they were not bitter tears, for 
they flowed from eyes piously rolled towards heaven, 
and bright with the joy of hope that her dear boy 
would yet one day come out more than conqueror. 
And O power resistless of truth ! this great British ad- 
miral, whom not all the thunders and lightnings of hos- 
tile navies could have daunted, was so confounded by 
the still small voice of sacred truth, that he turned 
away pale with shame and trouble, and walked the 
floor silent and humbled as a weaned child. 






CHAPTER XII. 

But leaving the admiral and his amiable consort 
tinder the excitement of feelings of a very opposite 
character, let us turn to William. On the first glance 
at that dear boy, though but through the eye of fancy, 
we can scarce refrain from crying out — O, come here 
young men ! come here ! and mark the difference, the 
wide, wide difference between the child of God and 
the slave of Satan in the persecutions they suffer for 
vice, or virtue's sake ! The young sinner, who, for 
debauching his neighbour's daughter, or murdering his 
son in a duel, is kicked out of his father's doors, flies 
from home like a ravening wolf from his wintry 
den. And while the curses of the injured are beat- 
ing upon him from behind, conscious guilt, like a 
deadly frost, has blasted every flower of hope in front, 
and left him nothing but dreariness and despair. Then 
seizing the accursed halter he chokes himself over some 
convenient gate-post, and dies, as he deserves, the death 
of a mad dog. Such are, ofttimes, the effects of perse- 
cution for wickedness' sake. But the persecution for 
?ighteousnes*' sakp^ what is it like, or whereunto 



WILLIAM PENN. 75 

filiall we compare it ? It is like unto a whirlwind in 
a garden of cinnamon, which, though it create a tran- 
sient tempest, yet serves to reveal the richer glories of 
tlie place ; for by shaking the beds of spiees it fills the 
air with sweetest odours and spreads abroad a ravish- 
ment unknown before. Such was the effect of his fa- 
tlier's persecution of young William. It excited, indeed, 
an agitation that alternately bleached or reddened his 
cheeks, and called forth his tears. But still as it was for 
HIM " who will be no man's debtor," he quickly found 
in it, that " peace which passeth all understanding !" 
'Tis true his mother's eyes, following him to the door, 
melted him for a moment ; but scarcely had he passed 
the gate and entered on the fair clover-covered lawns 
of Pennwood, and eyed the spacious skies, before his 
heart was revived by a flood of joys of the noblest 
kind. The painful state of halting between two opi- 
nions is now over, and, as he hopes, for ever. He has 
at last bravely seized the cross. In thought he ascends 
the mount oi God, with his anchor of hope fast moor- 
ed in heaven, and his eyes of faith, bright as the 
everlasting hills, on which they are placed. And while 
a voice within seems to whisper — " well done good 
and faithful servant !" thou art now free — thou art 
now for God — ^*' thou art now living to the great end 
of thy creation," — he felt what he had often read, but 
never felt before — " the joy unspeakable and full of 
glory." 

In this happy frame he repaired without loss of time 
to London, in hopes of meeting his revered friend Tho- 
mas Loe. But learning that he was not yet returned 
from Ireland, William inquired where he might find 
any of the " people <;alled Quakers !" 

Such an inquiry from the son of admiral Penn, and 
in the meek looks too of one of that people excited 
much surprise, but he was presently directed to the 
house of one George Whitehead, an eminent minister 
among the quakcrs. As God would have it, there was 



76 THE LIFE OF 

a meeting that day, at Whitehead's house, which gave 
great joy to William, who went in and took his seat 
among the friends. He had not sat long before he 
found himself very happy with his company. The 
modesty of their dress — the sweet spirit on their coun- 
tenances, shining at once with reverence and affection 
in a noiseless but fervent devotion, filled his heart with 
all the delights of a most heavenly fellowship. He 
felt himself as he thought, among " the excellent ones 
of the earth,'"' — with them worshipping the best of all 
beings — seeking the greatest of all goods — and by 
means w^ell suited to tiie end they aimed at, even by 
a simple culture of the heart in those divine loves 
which alone can take of the things of God and give 
them to the soul. Soon as meeting was over, and the 
younger people and the women gone out, Whitehead, 
with several of the friends, approached William Penn, 
where he still sat, to salute him. William rose and 
giving his hand told them his name. They appeared 
greatly pleased, and said they were glad to see him, 
for that two years ago, they had heard friend Loe 
speak often and much concerning him. Here William 
blushed. They then asked him wether he was not 
very lately from Ireland ? for that they had just re- 
ceived letters from friend Loe speaking of having seen 
admiral Penn's son at meeting there, and giving a 
very favourable report of him. Thinking this a good 
opening, William told him his whole exercises in Ire- 
land with friend Loe, also his persecutions and banish- 
ment from Pennwood. Moreover he told them with 
a sigh, that for some time past he had been " halting 
between two opinions," but that now his mind was 
made up ; that being fully convinced that to love the 
world is the veriest madness and misery of man, and 
to love God his highest wisdom and happiness, he was 
resolved to forsake the world and cleave to God for 
ever. 

As Wilham made this confession, the countenances 



WILLIAM PENN. 77 

of the FRIENDS were brightened with joy. And when 
he was done they assured him how happy they were 
that one so young and of such high standing in the 
world, should think of making an offering of himself to 
God. William then told them, that he was indeed 
thankful, and could never be sufficiently so, that God 
had called him while so young, to the glory of his ser- 
vice. And, as to his wealth and high standing in the 
world, he felt there too that the more he had, the more 
he owed to God, and the stronger his obligations to 
a pious life : and that now he was come on purpose to 
cast in his lot among them. 

They all smiled, and asked him if he was in good 
earnest. William looked surprised. — They said they had 
asked him this question because they were afraid he 
had not counted the cost. 

O yes, replied he, I trust I have. 

They all shook their heads ; when Whitehead, with 
great meekness, said, I fear, friend William, thee art al- 
most too young for calculations of this sort. Thee ought 
to remember that we are a " little Jlock,'" and withal 
much despised, and that " not many rich, not many 
wise, not many great of this world," have sought fel- 
lowship with us. 

William said he had pondered all these things. 

Well then, said Whitehead, thee has done well in 
so doing ; but still, friend William, there is something 
against us much worse tlian all this yet 

William wanted to know what that was. 

Why, friend William, said Whitehead, thee must 
know that our religion is the hardest in the whole 
world. Here, William seeming to look as if he did not 
entirely comprehend this. Whitehead repeated "yes, 
friend William, oui-s is the hardest religion in the 
world." Other religions go chiefly on notions, ours 
on LOVE. And thou wilt learn, by and bye, that it is 
easier to harangue about a thousand new fang led no^ 
tions, than to mortifiy one old lust. If thou soughtest 
G 2 



78 THE LIFE OF 

fellowship with manj other societies, thou inightesi 
easily gain thy point by subscribing to their articles ; 
contending for their creeds ; confessing their notions, 
as about the trinity, and baptisms ; &c. and by assenting 
that all ought to be burnt who differ from them in these 
things. But friend William, we have not so learned Jesus. 
If his religion stood in these things, it were easy to 
be a Christian. Corrupt nature has always had a 
strong leaning to religion of this sort. The heathens 
gloried in their showy temples and gaudy sacrifices. 
The Jews vaunted in their tythings of mint, anise and 
cummin. Many Christians also make a great to do 
about creeds and catechisms^ about sacraments and no- 
tions ; because all the zeal the}- display on these points, 
though it may bring them much fame and wealth, need 
not cost them one dear lust or passion ! But the qua- 
kers, friend Wilham, put no confidence in these things. 
We feel ourselves constrained to a deeper work, evcR 
that hard lesson of Christ, ^'' the perfect love out of a 
pure heart,'''' And now since thou art come to join 
our society ; and, as is common when persons apply 
for membership with us, we would ask thee a question 
or two, but not concerning thy notions, but concern- 
ing thy affections. Hast thou then a perfect hatred of 
sin, and dost thou sincerely desire to be holy ? Hast 
thou the " faith that worketh by love ?" and does this 
vital principle in thy heart manifest itself in every 
thought and act of thy life? Is it the staid purpose of 
thy soul never to shed thy brother's blood in war or 
private strife ? Wilt thou never provoke him to hate by 
suing him at the law ? W^ilt thou never indulge thyself 
in gaudy attire, or furniture, or equipage, to the de- 
priving ihj poor brother of the comforts of thy charity, 
and thyself of the pleasure of extending it to him ? Wilt 
thou not only not put thy bottle to him, but wilt thou 
drive from thy house all gin and ardent spirits that 
might prove a stumbling block to him? Wilt thou never 
thyself rob him of his liberty, and wilt thou set thj 



WILLIAM PENN. 79 

face against those who would ? Wilt thou in thy furni- 
ture and equipage, also in thy cookery and manners 
of living, maintain whatever is plain and cheap, lest 
by a contrary example thou shouldst tempt him to live 
above his means, and thus involve him in debt and 
suffering ? 

These things, friend William, will serve to show 
thee the genius of our religion ; what we would be 
ourselves, and what we expect of all who enter into 
communion with us. Now as thou art young and of 
a great family in the world, thou mayest not relish 
doctrines so mortifying to pride and carnal sense, and 
which require that simplicity and perfect love so dis- 
tasteful to corrupt nature. We would therefore ad- 
vise thee to take time and revolve these things in thy 
mind, lest thou shouldst fall into the condemnation of 
those who are very ready to follow the Lord in the 
days of " the loaves and fishes^'''' but soon as he begins to 
preach his heavenly morality that would pull down 
the brute and set up the angel in man, strait they are 
"*' offended and will walk no more with him^ 

William's eyes sparkled, as friend Whitehead spoke 
in this way ; then^vith a smile he replied, that he had 
no need to take time to revolve these things. He was 
already persuaded, that every pulse of the heart to- 
wards the world and the flesh was but fostering a fe- 
ver fatal to true peace of mind ; that it was the desire 
of his soul to be crucified to the world and the fleshy 
as the only wisdom for a happy life. And as to the 
SIMPLICITY and self-denying doctrines of the people 
called quakers, and also, the contempt they put on all 
NOTIONAL religion, in comparison of that " perfect 
love" which so strongly inclines to do, in all cases, to 
others, as we would they should do to us, he was always 
charmed with them. He would not he said, so highly 
prize the religion of Christ, if it were not for this 
sweet spirit that runs through and animates the whole. 
He had within himself, added he, the witness of the 



80 THE LIFE OF 

divinity of this religion of Christ — its tendency to heal 
all the ills, and brighten all the goods of life. Repeat- 
ed experience had taught him, that in proportion as 
his heart was warmed and sweetened with this divine 
charity, he had a disposition to feel for his brother as 
for himself; to pity him ; to forgive him; to mourn 
his vices and misfortunes, and to rejoice in his virtues 
and prosperities ; and therefore instead of being offend- 
ed thereat, he thought it the very best employment 
God could set himself upon in this life to crucify inor- 
dinate self with all its pride, and envy, and hate, and 
to perfect himself in that pure love which, by giving 
him a tender interest in the welfare of others, would 
make him a partaker in all their good." 

Upon this, they all gave him the right hand of fel- 
lowship, and he was formally received as a friend, 
not more to the surprise and comfort of that benevo- 
lent and despised people, than to the astonishment 
and displeasure of the proud ones and great of the do- 
minant church, who from that day marked him as the 
butt of their spite. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

It was about the twenty-fourth year of his life that 
William Penn became a preacher among the quakers ; 
whence it appears, that, being only eighteen when he 
joined them, he must have been six years preparing 
himself for his " high calling,'' the ministry. What we 
are to learn from that singular fact in the life of Christ, 
that he was nine years after he came of age, as we say, 
before he began to preach, I know not But of William 
Penn we may safely say this in the hearing of young 
candidates for holi/ orders, that when they remember 
that his talents were certainly of the first class, and hi? 



WILLIAM PENN. 81 

life equally spotless ; and when they remember too 
that his convictions of the transcendent charm and 
worth of religious affections, were very early and deep, 
and yet he delayed coming forth to the public until his 
twenty-fourth year, they ought, we think, to be very 
cautious, lest, " running before they are sent, they fall 
into the snare of the devil, and by bringing much re- 
proach on their holy profession, pierce themselves 
through with many sorrows." 

What particular books and bodies of divinity Wil- 
lim Penn studied during those six years of seclusion, I 
have never been able to learn ; but on reading the nu- 
merous tracts, which, like polished shafts of the quiver, 
flew from his pen against the adversaries of the hum- 
ble and loving gospel^ (as set forth in the lives of the 
quakers,) we are at a loss whether most to admire the 
extent of his reading, or the powers of his memory and 
judgment. 

As a skilful chemist, from a waggon load of plants, 
will extract an essence which though compressible into 
an ounce vial, shall yet contain the choice odour and 
virtues of the whole heap, leaving the residue a mere 
caput mortuum fit only for the dunghill — so, in passing 
through the alembic of William Penn's brain, the 
grossest bodies of divinity appeared all at once de- 
composed ; the bonds whereby sophistry had coupled 
truth and error, are instantly dissolved ; and the vile and 
the precious are shown in such characteristic colours, 
that a child can easily mark the difference. The result 
of all this was a plainness and purity in his principles 
and practice which can hardly be enough admired and 
imitated. 

We read of the wise king of Israel, that after all his 
sprightly songs, and pregnant proverbs, and grave dis- 
courses, he winds up with a single text — " fear God and 
keep his commandments ; for that is the whole duty of 
man." Even so, William Penn, after all his deep 
reading and reflection on that great subject, throws the 



^2 THE LIFE OF 

whole of religion into two words, humility and love. 
Those who are in the habit of despising a religion that 
is not bundled up and bloated with creeds and cate- 
chisms, SACRAMENTS and CEREMONIES, wiU HO doubt 

think as meanly of Penn's simple religion of humility 
and LOVE, as Naaman did of Elisha's simple prescrip- 
tion for the leprosy, " go and washy But it is enough 
for us to know that this religion, simple as it may seem, 
is from God. And it is also enough for us to know that 
the foolishness of God is wiser than man. Man must 
always have a tedious ^'^ round abouV way to come at his 
object. God goes point blank to it at once. Man must 
have a thousand springs to move one effect ; God 
touches but one spring, and lo milhons of effects leap 
into motion ! Since then his power is so great why 
may not God, if it please him, give command, and a 
single pair of parent virtues shall instantly give birth 
to innumerable beauties in the moral world ? He does 
so in the natural world. Look at wintry nature clad 
in her dreary shroud of ice and snow — her lovely ve- 
getable family all enhearsed I — her nobler animal off- 
spring drooping in silent despair ! ''''Alas ! shall these 
dead bones live.'''' Yes, let the sun but come forth in 
his strength — let the soaking showers smoke along the 
ground — and straightway the little plants peep forth, 
laughing, from their clods — the lambs gambol on their 
hills — and the birds fill the spicy groves with songs ! 
— and all this wondrous change effected by the sole 
agency of the sun and the shower ! And what is that 
sun ; and what is that shower in the natural world, 
but humility and love in the moral ? For as the 
warm sun and shower unbind the ice of winter, and 
(ill the lap of nature with precious fruits and flowers, 
so by the tear of humility and the glow of love, the ice 
of human nature is dissolved — the long dead seeds of 
virtue begin to sprout — the man is revived — his fajce 
blooms benevolence — his thoughts breathe kindness — 
and his lips utter a language sweeter than the song oi 



WILLIAM PENN. BS 

birds, and more refreshing than the odour of precious 
spices. 

Thus NATURE, by her still small voice of analogy, 
proclaims to man that humility and love are the true 
religion and life of the moral world. But for further 
proof let us go up from nature to nature's God; from 
his works to his word. And here, passing by the pro- 
phets who all assure us that Jehovah asks not our 
" thousands of rams nor tens of thousands of rivers 
of oi7," but only that we " do justice ; love mercy ; 
and walk humbly with God." Passing by the apostles 
also, who with one voice declare that humility and 
LOVE are the very '• end of the law'''' — and that without 
these all our zeal, though hot as the martyr's flame, 
and all our faith though stronger than mountains, will 
avail us nothing. Passing, I say, by the prophets and 
apostles, let us come to a greater than all prophets and 
apostles, I mean God himself '''' manifested in the fleshy'''' 
and in him we shall see cause for ever to exclaim, " wa& 
ever love, was ever humanity like his ? " 

His mother — an obscure virgin ! 

His supposed father — a poor carpenter ! 

His birth-place — a stable 1 

His cradle — a manger ! 

His heralds — shepherds f 

His disciples — ^fishermen ! 

His family example — washing his disciples' ieei f 

His miracle — giving eyes to the blind, (Szc. ! 

His new commandment — love one another ! 

His favourites here — they that resemble little chil- 
dren! 

His courtiers hereafter — they that feed the hungry, 
(Sic. &;c. ! 

His coming into the world — to seek those that were 
lost! 

His LIFE — doing good ! 

His death — on the cross to save sinners ! 

Now what does all this point to, but to humihty and 



84 THE LIFE OF 

love — to a love stronger than death, and to a humility 
lower than the grave ! 

And for those who hold no authority equal to rea- 
son, what says reason? Why the only religion in the 
universe must be humility and love — because, by hu- 
mility WE ADORE GOD FOR ALL THAT HE GIVES TO 
OURSELVES ; AND BY LOVE WE PARTICIPATE WITH 
OTHERS IN ALL THAT HE GIVES TO THEM. 

But still a blind world will not be reconciled to hu- 
mility and LOVE. They are too heavenly for earthly 
natures — too much against the grain of flesh and blood, 
to be submitted to. " What !'* says Pride, " be the 
servant of all ! take the lowest seat ! wash the disci- 
ples' feet !" — " What !" says Hate, " bear to be called 
a liar ! love my enemies ! do them good for all their 
evil to me ! no, never." 

This is poor human nature all over. Whether Jew 
or Gentile, Turk or Christian, they can't stomach hu- 
mility and love. Jf God will but excuse them from 
these, they will do any thing for him. Let them but 
have their pride and revenge, their covetousness 
and LUST, and they will give him thousands of will- 
worship. The heathens will sacrifice their hecatombs 
of fat bullocks and lambs ; yea and their own children 
too, on a pinch. The Jews will give him prayers in 
the streets by the hour, with loads of mint and anise 
into the bargain. The Mahometans will shear their whis- 
kers, and make scores of pilgrimages to the prophet's 
tomb — and the Christians, with all their better light, 
will get baptized in every mode, w^hether of sprinkling 
or dipping ; and will take forty sacraments, if there be 
as many. And yet, after all, what good was ever done 
to the w^orld by these alone ? Have they ever yet made 
mankind one jot the better or happier ? Alas ! can we 
be ignorant that w^ith the most pompous display of 
these, the w^orld has all along been " dead in trespasses 
and sins ?" The heathens universally, idolaters, gladi- 
ators, cannibals. The Jews, extortioners, and devourer?' 



WILLIAM PENN. S5 

of widows' houses. The Mahometans, polygamists, 
s ave holders, robbers. And the Christians — (O shame I 
shame ! shame !) the Christians — drunkards, gamblers, 
swindlers ; duellists in private life ; and in public, 
butchers of one another in endless and bloody wars. 

But to come neaicr to our own case as individuals, 
let us suppose a man disordered with the leprosy of sin. 
And for arguments sake, let us suppose, reader, that you 
are that man ; from the sole of your foot to the crown 
of your head all distempered, all grievously afflicted. 
Let us suppose that you are tormented with envy, so 
that like Cain, the prosperity of even your own brother 
stirs a hell within you — or bloated with pride, so that, 
like Haman, not all the smiles of a monarch and his 
court can appease your vengeance for the neglect of 
a beggar. Now under such cruel distempers as these, 
will you look for a cure in the externals of religion ? 
Alas I have you not discovered, that all your bodily 
exercises ^'•profit nothing F^^ Have you not found, that 
after all your shiftings from one religion to another ; 
after all your humble kneelings and solemn sacra- 
ments ; all your china bowl baptisms, or your deeper 
plungings, — your heart has continued just as hard, and 
your life as much embittered with malignant passions 
and the dread of death as ever ? But say, O happy 
reader, when at some subsequent period the God of 
Elijah had descended into your heart, in streams of 
humility and flames of love, have you not experienced 
a change beyond all that you could have conceived ? 
Have you not found the haughty proudling converted 
into the weaned child — through tears smiling on m* 
juries which formerly would have been insupport- 
able — delighting in works of love which you would 
once have utterly loathed — with brotherly tenderness 
washing the feet of the meanest disciple — with angel 
sympathy cleansing the ulcers of the poorest Lazarus — 
and, more wondrous still, with godlike generosity 
taking the bitterest enemy to yoUr arms, and even 
H 



86 TPIE LIFE OF 

rejoicing in the divine work of doing him good for 
evil ! 

Of the wonderful difference between this rehgion 
of Christ and that of the world — between the showy 
rehgion of ceremonies and the simple religion of hu- 
mility and love, few men perhaps ever had a livelier 
sense than William Penn ; and few ever took truer 
pains to impart that sense to others. This was the 
end of all his life's extraordinary labours — to caution 
men against what he called will-worship. "Don't 
think," he would say, " that preachings and prayings, 
singings and sacraments, can make you Christians. 
Baptism by water washes azcay only the fllh of the 
flesh j 'tis baptism hy fire and the Holy Ghost that is to 
burn up our lusts, and restore union and oneness with 
God. 'Tis in vain you eat the flesh, and drink the 
blood of Christ, unless they nourish in you his spirit^ 
which is humility and love. Without which there is 
no salvation, because there is no qualification for it. 
For without humility how can there be gratitude? 
and without gratitude, how can there be enjoyment? 
And without a child-like love of him, how can we 
walk with God in the blessedness of sweet obedience 
in this life, or in the joys of beatific vision in the life 
to come ? Thus humility and love are required, not 
as arbitrary terms for God's pleasure, but as loving 
prescriptions for man's happiness, to which indeed 
they are so absolutely essential, that without them 
God himself could not make us truly happy : for, 
without them, we could no more enjoy the ravishing 
glories of his presence than we now can enjoy beauti- 
ful pictures without eyes, or savoury dishes without 
health. 



WILLIAM PENN. 87 



CHAPTER XTV. 



Now one would have supposed that all men would 
have heen well pleased with William Penn, for thus 
eloquently persuading people to exchange their barren 
notions for divine loves^ which alone can restore the 
"golden age" of pleasure, to man and beast. One 
would have supposed that every child, laughing with 
plenteousness of bread .; and that every animal gambol- 
ing with fat, would, by thus manifesting the blessed 
effects of his doctrine, have caused all good men to 
rejoice in it. At any rate, one would have supposed, 
that though kings and their minions, rioting on the 
nation's substance, might hate such levelling doctrines, 
yet assuredly their " thread hare subjects,'''' and above 
all, the oppressed dissenters, would have supported 
him in a doctrine so well calculated to hghten their 
burdens, and better their own condition. But alas, 
poor human nature ! let a man wear a coat never so 
black, or a face never so grum, yet, without love, 
(the soul of all magnanimity,) he will soon manifest 
himself the slave of some pitiful passion. And as 
slaves on a West-India plantation, the worse they are 
treated by their masters, the more cruel they become 
to one another ; so in a country where religion is not 
left free to make men the children of God in humility 
and love, but is enslaved to make them the " hewers 
of wood and drawers of water" to a despot, the worse 
they are afflicted and chafed in their minds by him, the 
more apt are they to hate their fellow sutFerers. 

Another reason may be assigned for the very unex- 
pected persecution of William Fenn by the dissenting 
preachers. Mdu is seldom placed in a situation that 
entirely extinguishes his strong natural wish to be 
somehodij. Hence the dissenters in England, though 
shamefully kept under hatches by the national church, 
yet neYQT shed their iiijuorish tooth for power. And 



88 THE LIFE OF 

although they could not get what St. Paul calls " a 
good thing," /. e. a bishopric ; yet they affected to 
come as near to it as possible. They must, (as our 
Saviour charged their fathers,) be called " Rabbi ! 
Rabbi !" They must be seated in the '''•uppermost places 
at the feast — be the chief men in the synagogues, 
and receive praises of men^ Well, those among 
them who possessed talents and education, often at- 
tained these objects of their ambition — they gathered 
hearers — made proselytes — built meeting houses — 
drew up their catechisms and confessions of faith — 
published their hymn books and discipline — and thus 
mimicked most bravely a church of Christ. But though 
apparently, " so nigh unto the kingdom of God, yet one 
thing they lacked. They did not this for God, — but for 
flthy lucre sake — and for glory from men.'''' Yes, 
they must be great doctors of divinity and heads of 
churches. Some of them, as before observed, suc- 
ceeded. Success often tempts even the pulpit to 
pride ; and pulpit pride, like all the rest, kindles at op- 
position and sickens at talents superior to its own. 
The shepherd who loses his lamb to the wolf, loses 
nothing but his lamb-, the fleece and flesh, that's 
all. His own character, in the mean time, as a man, 
and therefore lord of the wolf, stands undisputed. 
But the proud priest who loses his disciple, loses not 
only his fleece and flesh, his taxable and tytheable, 
who feeds his vanity and fattens his purse, but he 
loses his reputation too ! The world will say of him 
that though he was great, another was greater. " Saul 
slew his thousands, but David his tens of thousands." 
This were a stab incurable ; he could never get over 
it. And as such an idea must never go abroad, he 
must pull down his rival, that's a clear case. 

Such was the wretched spirit manifested against 
Wilham Penn, by some of the dissenting preachers 
of his time. I mean not such '"''great and shining 
lights,^'' as the Watts 's and Baxters and Doddridges 



WILLIAM PENN. 89 

and Wesleys, and Gills, of latter times, whom God, in 
mercy to the world, has all along raised up to check 
the corruption and decay of the gospel by wickedly 
mixing it with this world, as popes and politicians 
have done. But I am speaking of such, and such 
there are in the purest churches, who preaching for 
fame and for the fleece, would not thank St. Paul 
himself to take away one of their hearers. It was a 
dissenting preacher of this stamp who rose up so furi- 
ously against William Penn. The case was thus — 
The divine sweetness of his countenance when he 
stood up to speak, and the truths which fell from his 
lips with such demonstration of light and love, pro- 
duced the effect that might have been counted on. 
Numbers were convinced and joined themselves to the 
gospel. Among these were some persons belonging to 
the meeting of a popular dissenting preacher of the name 
of Irvine. This gentleman had, for some time, been 
much displeased with William Penn for reflecting on 
his favourite doctrine, '-'• justification by faith alone^^'' — 
" imputed righteousness,'^'' and other such notions which 
some are fond of putting in place of the harder precepts 
o^ humility and faith loorking by love.''^ As yet he had 
kept his displeasure to himself. But soon as he heard 
that WilHam Penn had drawn away some of his flock, 
he could contain no longer, but broke forth against him 
into the most indecent passion, calling him a jesuit ; 
a FALSE PROPHET, and a preacher of dajinable doc- 
trines. 

Happily for William Penn his labours in religion 
had been chiefly in quest of that treasure which is 
better than the merchandize of gold, i. e. love. By vir- 
tue of this he had learned to look on his fellow man, 
when tormented v>^ith sin, as no object of hate but of 
pity. He therefore made no reply at first to such 
abuse, but by his sighs. At length fearing that silence 
might, by weak persons, be considered as a tacit ac- 
knowledgment of a bad cause, he permitted a public 
H 2 



90 THE LIFE OF 

notice, that " he and his friend William Mead, would 
meet James Irvine at any time and place he should think 
proper to appoint, and in the spirit of meekness endea- 
vour to answer the very uncharitable charges which he 
had made against them.'''' 

If a rumored fight between the elephant and rhino- 
ceros has always excited curiosity sufficient to fill the 
largest amphitheatre, then how much more when 
Christian divines, of highest reputation in their respec- 
tive churches, are coming forward to public dispute 
on the all-important subjects of religion and eternal 
life. The crowd of hearers was immense. William 
Penn, and his friend Mead being handed up to seats 
prepared for them on a platform, Mr. Irvine in his 
pulpit commenced with very formally charging Wil- 
liam Penn, as an utter enemy to the glorious doctrine 
of the trinity. 

William Penn denied the charge. 

Mr. Irvine set himself with great pomp to prove his 
assertion in a lengthy series of subtile scholastic argu- 
ments. 

William Penn with his usual simplicity and brevity, 
showed that both his reasoning and language, being 
utterly unscriptural, ought not to be relied on. 

Finding that William Penn and his friend Mead had 
a great deal more to say in favour of their opinions 
than he had imagined, and that the controversy was like 
to take a very different turn from what he had ex- 
pected, Mr. Irvine lost his temper and became quite 
abusive. His disciples kept pace with him in his rage, 
which they now indulged, not only without restraint, 
but even with complacency, as thinking they were do- 
ing God service by abusing '•'false teachers,^"* and '■'■vile 
Jesuits.'''' In short, after an altercation continued till 
late at night, Mr. Irvine, filled with holy wrath, could 
refrain no longer, but leaping down from his pulpit 
and snatching his hat, darted out of the meeting-house 
with a soul as dark and stormy as the night he rushed 



WILLIAM PENN. 91 

into. This served as a signal to his party to maltreat 
our poor qiiakers at pleasure, which they accordingly 
did in the most indecent manner. They shuffled their 
feet — they hissed — they put out their candles — and at 
length pulling them down from the platform, thrust 
them out of doors. 

Seeing no chance of getting any thing like justice 
from such blind persons, William Penn determined to 
bring his defence before the public. Accordingly he 
fell to writing and presently came out with a pamphlet 
entitled " the sandy foundation shaken^ Now though 
in this famous piece he only said what his divine mas- 
ter had said a thousand times before him, viz. that all 
manner of dependence on Christ save that which 
worketh humility and love, will only turn out like 
the house built on the sand^ yet he soon discovered 
that, in writing it, he had brought himself into the pre- 
dicament of that notable peasant, who, in running away 
from the wolf, stumbled upon the lion. In place of the 
skin-deep scratches of a few feeble dissenters, he was 
all at once in the strong clutches of the bishop of Lon- 
don and his formidable clergy. These reverend and 
right reverend gentlemen, with scarlet ribbons at their 
knees and long swords by their sides, had for some 
time past been frowning on William Penn, and for the 
same goodly reasons for which certain worthies in his 
day had so grinned at St. Paul, i. e. because he wished 
"<o be their friend.^'' 

Every body knows that William Penn did not dread 
the prince of darkness half as much as he did a noisy, 
SHOWY RELIGION. Knowing, as he did, that the heart 
of man is " deceitful above all things and desperately 
wicked,'^'' — and knowing also, that most men are such 
extravagant lovers of themselves, that like certain 
saints we read of in the gospel, if they only make a 
bow at the altar, think themselves full holy enough to 
''''despise father and mother l^"* or if, like the pharisees, 
they do but offer to God a sprig of mint, they set 



92 THE LIFE OF 

themselves down at once for AbraJiam^s children /— 
Or if, like Christ's ow7i disciples, who only for leaving 
their beggarly trades and walking about a short season 
with their divine master, who, by the bye, was every 
day working miracles to fill their hungry bellies and 
pay their taxes ^ yet they could boldly lay claim to the 
^'- first seats in his kingdom /" — Knowing, I say, as Wil- 
liam Penn did, all this incalculable pride and naughti- 
ness of the human heart, had he not abundant cause 
to tremble for the bishop of London and his clergy, 
when he saw the mighty noise and show which they 
were making "/or God^s sake,""^ — darkening the skies 
with their tall cathedrals and spires — distracting the 
air with their bells and organs — dazzling all eyes with 
their rich pulpit-cloths and altar-pieces — keeping the 
people on the stare at their constant change of gowns, 
and cassocks, and the church in a holy bustle of kneel- 
ings and risings, with loud responses and amens ? 
Had not he good cause, as St. Paul speaks of certain 
ostentatious saints of his day, " to stand in fear of 
them,'''' lest, after such wonderful exploits in religion, 
they would, in the old way, begin to " thank God that 
they w-ere not like other men ?'' And because he 
thus feared for them, and often out of pure christian 
love expressed his fears, the bishop of London, in 
place of taking it in good part, kindled into wrath, and 
by way of revenge, had him attainted of heresy, on ac- 
count of his book, and thrown into prison ! ! 

The clergy, many of whom had already raised the 
old war-whoop, "Great is Diana of the JEphesians," 
now felt themselves perfectly at liberty to fall upon 
William Penn, which they did in the most virulent 
manner. One of them went so far as to sa}', " he did 
not see how it was possible for God, consistently xi'ith the 
Bible, to save a quaker /" Another revererid gentle- 
man, going still further, published a book against Wil- 
liam Penn, wherein he asserted roundly, that "Par- 
liament would not be doing half as much harm to the 



WILLIAM PENN. 93 

nation by tolerating gamblers, hoi'se-thkves^ duellists, 
and all that pack of vermin^ as by tolerating the qua- 
kers^ 

Had a whale or a grampus, during a heavy blow at 
sea, put into the mouth of the Thames, no historian 
of those days would on any account have missed re- 
lating the wonderful and portentous event. And yet 
this reverend whale of spiritual ignorance and bigotry, 
who made his appearance in the city of London so 
late as the year 1669, is no where noticed by Hume, 
Smollett, or any other British writer that I have seen. 
So much apter are men to notice monsters in the na- 
tural than in the moral world ! thus dipping, like 
wanton swallows, at mere feathers on the surface to 
amuse a vain fancy, when they ought to be diving like 
men to the bottom of moral truths, for the precious 
pearls of true wisdom. 

After lying for some time in durance vile, William 
Penn was let into the grand secret of his confinement 
there, viz. /or denying the divinity of the Saviour! He 
was also given to understand from the good bishop, 
that unless he recanted that damnable error, he should 
die and rot in prison/ ! Soon as possible he procured 
pen and ink, and presently came out with another 
pamphlet, entiled " truth with her open face " 
In this work, so far from making the Saviour less, as 
his enemies slandered, he makes him much greater 
than they do. Instead of making him the second 
person in the trinity, he makes him the frst — yea, he 
makes him as the scriptures make him, " The mighty 
God'' — " The everlasting Father"" — " The only wise 
God our Saviour," even " God himself manifested 
in the flesh" — who was " with God from the begin 
ning, and who was God." The bishop, a sturdy 
athanasian, did not altogether like this exposition of 
the trinity ; but it gave great comfort to some, even to 
those whose pious souls had often been grieved to hear 
the blessed God misrepresented as having less love 



94 THE LIFE OF 

for them than Christ has. To them it gave unspeaka- 
ble joy to find, as they did in this pubhcation of Wil- 
ham Penn's, that God was still their God, their infinite 
friend and father, who so loved them even in their 
death of sin, that he came into the world for their re- 
demption ; yea, that it was " God himself who in the 
person of Christ redeemed the world." William Penn 
is, however, in prison, where we mean to visit him, 
next chapter. 

CHAPTER XV. 

William Penn in prison^ his mother visits him. 

A THOUSAND great things and glorious have been 
said of RELIGION and her family of pleasures. But if 
ten thousand times ten thousand more were added, 
still would the happy Christian have cause to ex- 
claim, as did the queen of the East, when with rap- 
ture-sparkling eyes she beheld the riches and glories 
of Solomon's royal state, " verily the half was not told 
me.'' O, who, in praising can ever do half justice to 
that blessed frame of mind which in every thing sees 
and feels the presence of the Deity, with that holy joy 
which antidotes all the ills of life, and makes men con- 
tent in every state — content in poverty — content in 
sickness — yea, content in bonds and imprisonment 
where duty calls and the pleasure of pleasing God, is 
felt. This blessed influence of religion was fully ex- 
perienced by William Penn in a very important event 
of his life about this time. 

Because he could not think of the trinity exactly 
as St. Athanasius thought, he was, as we have just seen, 
locked up in prison by the bishop of London. Under 
circumstances of this sort, the falscli/ great have been 



WILLIAM PENN. gs 

known to exhibit symptoms of extreme dejection and 
impatience ; bitterly lamenting their own misfortunes, 
and as keenly reflecting on the authors of them. But 
far different was the state of William Penn in prison. 
Iron bars and bolts could shu4; him in, but they could 
not shut out his God. As to please him by pulling 
down falsehood, and setting up truth, appeared to Penn 
the highest glory of man, so it inspired the tenderest pity 
of those who were blind to its importance, and who 
did not greaten life by pursuing it. Hence, all the 
malice of the bishop and his clergy, in place of harm, 
wrought him much good, by exercising and strength- 
ening in him that divine charity which draws the sting 
of injuries, and spontaneously breathes that sublimest 
of prayers, "Father forgive them for they know not 
what they do." 

With so much of heaven in his bosom, what wonder 
that his confinement should have entirely changed its 
nature, and instead of seeming dark and dreary as a 
dungeon, should have reflected the gay and lightsome 
air of a palace. 

How long he had laid in prison before the news 
thereof reached that affectionate parent, 1 kriow not. 
And as little do I know by whom it was conveyed. 
Certainly, it was not by him, for she was the last per- 
son on earth to whose tender bosom he would have 
imparted such a pang ; especially knowing, as he did, 
that all her sighs and tears could avail him nothing. 
The news, however, was brought to her that he was 
in prison. The reader, especially if a parent, will ask 
no poet's pen to describe the feelings of this tender- 
est of mothers on hearing that an only son, and one so 
beloved, was in jail! And her sufferings must have 
been more than ordinarily severe, as, from the silence 
of the historian concerning him, it is more than proba- 
ble that her husband, the admiral, was from home 
at this distressing juncture. Her coach was instantly 
ordered to the door, and, with all the trembling eager- 



96 THE LIFE OF 

ness of maternal affection, she threw herself into it and 
set out for the prison, mournfally revolving no doubt 
as she went, the dark cloud now obscuring those bright 
prospects which she had so often formed for her son. 
Her reveries were soon broken off by the appearance 
of the prison. But if her tender spirits were chilled 
with horror at sight of the gloomy walls and iron 
gratings around that house of woe, what must she 
have felt, as passing along those crowded chambers of 
sin and suffering, her gentle senses were assailed with 
the filth and rags and pallid looks of the wretches that, 
on all sides, stared at her as she walked. Following 
the steps of the sullen turnkey, she arrived at William's 
chamber, whose iron door, reluctantly opening with 
discordant jar, gave her eager eyes the dear object 
they sought for. Absorbed in his studies, and sitting 
at an opposite window, William Penn had not marked 
the entrance of his mother, who, soon as she beheld 
him, could not repress her feelings, but involuntarily 
uttered a scream, calling on his beloved name. Start- 
ing from his chair, William Penn wheeled him around to 
that well known voice, presenting to his mother a face 
as like an angel as innocence and filial love, in rosy 
youth could look. O never was the charm of virtue 
more sensibly felt than now ; and never was that charm 
more needed. Mrs. Penn had come to weep over her 
imprisoned son, and to bathe him with her tears. But 
far from her were all such thoughts when she beheld 
him, as leaping from his chair, and with all heaven in 
his countenance, he flew to embrace her. 

Ml/ Mother I 

O my son! was all that nature, near swooning with 
ineffable tenderness, could utter. After a moment of 
delicious tears shed on his bosom, the happy mother 
raised herself to feast her eager eyes on his beloved 
face. It was a feast indeed. " O the difference! the 
difference ! her joy sparkling eyes seemed to say as 
they darted over his looks — " the difference between 



WILLIAM PENN. g? 

this my son and the ghastly wretches I but now beheld! 
They, the dismal foiins of guilt, disease, and death ^ but 
HE, all that fancy can conceive of the lovely reverse ! 
Health in his cheeks, heaven in his eyes, and in every 
feature innocence and bliss.'''' These honours of her 
son were too bright and precious to escape her keen 
searching inspection. She caught and enjoyed them 
all to ecstasy. Then pressing him once more in trans- 
port to her bosom, and looking at him with great ten- 
derness, she said, " O William, my son, my son, what 
a medley of sweetest pains and pleasures has my life 
been made to me ; and all through you !" 

Sweetest pains, my mother, and all through me! 

" Yes, William, sweetest pains indeed, and all 
through you. God be praised, you never gave me the 
pang of a single vice. O no, your life has all been 
brightened over with virtues. But still, William, 
through some rare dispensation of heaven, even your 
virtues have caused me pains ; but, as I said, they 
have been sweet pains. Your early seriousness and 
devotedness to God, were certainly the greatest of all 
virtues : but then your father's violent persecutions of 
you for it, and especially for your joining the quakers, 
was cause of great pain to me, though it was, I con- 
fess, accompanied with much pleasure because of the 
pure principles and firm, yet amiable spirit, you dis- 
played under it all. And now your confinement in 
this prison has cost me many tears, but still, blessed 
be God, they are comparatively sweet tears, because 
not shed for grief of any crime that you have commit- 
ted, but rather for joy of your angel innocence and 
honest adherence to what you think your duty." But, 
my dear son, although your looks, shining with hea- 
venly innocence and peace, do cause me to feel my- 
self the happiest of mothers, yet I must confess, W^il- 
liam, that my joy would be still more complete if you 
were not in this place." 

Yes, mother, and could I obtain it on terms consistent 
I 



08 THE LIFE OF 

with duty, I also would prefer freedom to these bonds. 
But with my present views of things how can 1 ever 
expect it ? 

Why not, my son ? replied Mrs. Penn, eagerly. 

Why, mother, 1 am in this prison not for any moral 
law of God that I have violated ; not for any harm that 
I have ever done to any, or even for suspicion of such 
thing, but merely because I will not conform with the 
national church. But how can I conform to that 
church while there is so much of antichrist in their 
worship ? 

Of antichrist, William ! 

Yes, mother, of antichrist : for what is antichrist, 
but to invent substitutes, no matter how costly or how 
apparently holy, in place of the simple worship which 
God has declared will please him? Now God every 
where tells us that he " is a spirit" — a spirit of" ho- 
liness AND love" — that, this being his own nature, 
"he seeks for worshipers" — "?ione but those who 
thus worship him in spirit and ti'uth.'''^ He also every 
where assures us that there is nothing which his soul 
so abhors as all attempts, in place of these, to invent 
outward substitutes, such as grand temples — rich of- 
ferings — thousands of rams — teiis of thousands of ri- 
vers of oil — bowings of the head like bullrushes — ob- 
servings of nezv mooyis and sabbaths — tythings of mint 
and anise — disfguring offices— long prayers— frequent 
fastings — giving alms in the streets, &;c. " while the 
heart is far from him," and of course the life 
tilled up with crimes, such as "devouring widows' 
houses" — and not providing proper food and raiment 
even for " their own householcV Now, my dear mo- 
ther, look at our national church, my non-conformity 
with which has caused the bishops to throw me {un- 
charged with a crime) into this prison : I say look at 
our national church and see how awfully it has fallen 
into these abominations — see how, leaving the simple, 
inzoard, spititual worship of Christ, that naturally 



WILLIAM PENN. 99 

leads to imitate him in all moral virtues, they have 
substituted an outward, showy, gaudy worship, like the 
Heathens, which is consistent with all their old sins of 
pride, indulgence of self, and frauds and cruelties to 
others. Look at their grand churches and cathedrals 
which they have built for Christ ! do these show any 
thing like his humility in life^ doctrine and example^ 
which " he has left that we might follow his steps.'''' 
Do these show any thing of his love, who "made him- 
self poor that we might be rich" — who requires 
" mercy and not sacrifice^'' — and who said " let nothing 
be lost," no, not a scrap of broken meat, because 
there is always some poor starving Lazarus who 
wants it. 

" And look at the ornamentings and furniture of 
these grand churches and cathedrals, which they say 
they have built for Christ ; their costly carvings and 
paintings ; their rich altar-pieces and pulpit-cloths, 
flaming with crimson and gold ; their piles of massy 
plate ; and, above all, their tall and towering steeples 
and spires, reaching to the clouds ! Do these things 
suit the genius of his simple humble worship ; or do 
they match with his precepts of " perfect charity," 
which are as angels sent to earth, with their eyes bright 
through tears, eagerly looking around for the poor and 
miserable, that they may relieve them ; and not throw- 
ing away their precious means on such blinding, de- 
ceiving, and fatal vanities. For " who hath required 
these things at your hajids, saith the Lord God. Be- 
hold the heaven of heavens cannot containme : and will 
you build me houses of brick and mortar, which perish 
before the moth? Is not this the sacrifice that I have 
chosen, even to deal thy bread to the hungry ? and that 
thou bring the poor that are cast out of thy house ? 
when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him ; and 
that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh F'''' And 
then for the worship, both by the priests and the peo- 
ple, which is offered unto Christ in these their grand 



100 THE LIFE OF 

churches, what precedents have they for it in his gos- 
pel ? When the multitude was come together to hear 
the words of eternal life from his lips, did he amuse 
them with changes of garments, surplices, and gowns, 
and cassocks ? or did he keep the impatient crowds in 
suspense, wearying and fatiguing them with repetitions 
of long prayers, which, though excellent in themselves, 
and apt to be vei-y savoury and profitable to the devout, 
ought not to be forced upon the multiude? And as to 
his worshippers, did he, whose chief delight is in the 
' humble and cojilrite ones,'' ever look to be served by 
giddy crowds driving up to his house in proud car- 
riages, alas ! too often bought with monies taken from 
their creditors ; or, worse still, taken from the '-poor 
to whom he had appointed them his own stewards?'' 
or did he expect that persons profaning his house with 
pomps and vanities of attire so opposite to the charita- 
ble spirit of his religion, would set themselves down 
as his disciples, because they had gone a formal round 
of outward devotions, while in their tempers and man- 
ners they betrayed the most deplorable ignorance of 
the Saviour whom they had been so pompously wor- 
shipping—living in their old scandalous neglects of those 
moral duties which even heathens honour, to the great 
disgrace of the religion of Christ, and to the filling the 
world with infidel philosophers, thus taught to laugh 
at all revelation !" 

As William Penn uttered this, which he did like one 
who strongly felt what he was speaking, his mother, 
who had been eagerly imbibing every syllable, thus 
passionately replied : — " Oh William, my son, what a 
horrible picture have you given of the degeneracy of 
the church in these wretched days ! and the more hor- 
rible because it is so true." 

" Yes, mother," replied he ; " and yet, because I 
cannot conform to such horrible corruptions of Christ's 
gospel ; because 1 cannot bring my feelings to go to such 
churches and to partake of all that outward, noisy, showy, 



WILLIAM PENN 101 

TinspTritiml worship, my name is cast out as evil ; my 
property is confiscated and sold ; and I am here, you see, 
mother, locked up in prison, cut off from the common 
blessings of air and liberty, when all the time no man 
dare come forward and say I ever did him harm ; and 
all this under the eyes of the bishops of the church, 
whose tythings, and revenues, and palaces, and pomps, 
and pleasures are, in part, maintained out of the sub- 
stance thus torn from the poor quakers ; and their 
children beggared and ruined by such inhuman rob- 
berien, 

" Well, William," replied Mrs. Penn, embracing 
him, and her looks shining with heavenly joys, " you 
have given me more of divine comfort to-day than I 
ever experienced in one day in all my life. Such 
bright lights on your duty, and such fortitude to ad- 
here to it, in spite of all discouragements, O what glory 
has it not shed over your person in my eyes ; and 
what ceaseless gratitude to God that he has given to 
my dear son the honour t-o be such a champion and 
martyr for his glorious truth, which yet shall triumph." 

" Yes, mother," replied William, catching up that 
word, " yes, Christ's truth shall yet triumph over Sa- 
tan''s lies — and his heavenly love over hellish hate. 
The fruits of his righteousness shall jet fill the earth, 
and then all those who have honestly laboured for 
that great change, ' shall shine like the firmament, and 
as the stars for ever and ever.'" 

" Well, William," returned Mrs. Penn, getting up 
as to go away, " I came here to comfort you, but thank 
<jod for ever, you have much more comforted me. 
Yes, I am going home very different from what I came ; 
not with eyes flowing with bitter tears, but with a heart 
overflowing with sweetest joys. But now I must be 
going. T forgot to tell you that I expected your dear father 
yesterday. He will, I think, certainly come to-day. He 
is coming home sick. I long to pour of my joys into 
his bosom And besides, my dear son, this shameless 
I 2 



102 THE LIFE OF 

imprisonment of you may bring about great good. You 
know what a high spirited man he is ; and that, after 
all his life's dangers and hard fightings for his king and 
country ; after all his large loans of money for the 
glory of the British nation, you, his child, his only 
child, should be thus rudely thrown into prison, -it can- 
not but rouse his indignation. At any rate, it must set 
him to thinking ; and he may thence make such disco- 
veries of the scandalous corruptions in the national 
church, as shall produce an entire change in his re- 
spect for it, and even make him honour you for quit- 
ting it." Mrs. Penn then took a tender leave of her 
son, not without promising to come and see him the 
next day, and, perhaps, to bring his father with her. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

On her return Mrs. Penn found the admiral had just 
got home and very uneasy about her, as none of the 
servants could tell him where she was gone. His sur- 
prise in hearing from her that she had been to the 
prison, was changed into the deepest horror on hear- 
ing the cause — that she had been there to see Wil- 
liam ! The effect on his spirits was such as she had 
predicted, that after all his hard fighting, and liberal 
spendings for his country, his only son and child, 
though innocent of crime as a lamb, should thus be 
thrust into prison like a common felon, and that too 
by an English bishop, for the slightest insult of whose 
sacred lawn he would have fought to the knees in blood ; 
oh it was like the stab of a dagger. But he felt not as 
he once would have done. His health, which for a 
considerable time past, had been on the decline, had 
experienced such rapid decay during the last four 



WILLIAM PENN. 103 

months' cruise that his impoverished heart could 
scarely furnish blood enough for his cheeks and eyes 
to express their resentments. Mrs. Penn did not fail 
to aid his returning reason and conscience by all the 
arguments she honestly could. She gave him an ac- 
count of the interview with their son in prison. She 
told him that instead of finding William dejected and 
unhappy, she found him an angel of innocence and 
serenity ; cheerfully pursuing his studies, and in his 
looks showing a heroic spirit, nobly triumphant over 
all his enemies. She then related their son's vivid 
description of the horrible corruptions of the gospel 
by worldly minded bishops, substituting outward forms 
for the inward power of godliness ; and the still more hor- 
rible corruptions of the bishops themselves as too evi- 
dent in their pride and ambition, living like princes in 
their palaces, while thousands of widows and orphans 
were pining for bread ; and likewise their shutting up 
in prisons and robbing of their substance, thousands of 
the most humble and harmless souls, merely because 
they chose to worship God in a way of greater simpli- 
city and purity. 

The admiral showed signs of deep contrition at this, 
and with tears in his eyes, told his wife that he was 
afraid he had treated that amiable boy, his son, too 
harshly. He added that ever since his disputes with 
William, his own eyes had been, he believed, opening; 
and that he had for a good while past, been thinking 
that there was a wide difference between the precepts 
and example of Christ, and those of the great hierarchs 
who call themselves his bishops — that he began now 
to be satisfied that they were, most of them, a pack 
of worldly-mmded^ self-seeking hypocrites and im- 
postors, whom he would never more go to hear preach 
as long as he lived. " But, my dear," added he, let 
us waste no more time in talking thus while our son 
is in prison. I long to see William ; I long for an en- 



104 THE LIFE OF 

fire reconciliation with him ; and to eoconrage him to 
persevere in his good walk, though 1 am afraid, poor 
toy, the times are so bad he will meet with much 
persecution." The next morning while they were at 
breakfast, they were all at once surprised and delighted 
with the fine, open, sweetly shining face of William, 
who had received his discharge from prison early that 
morning, through a friend to whom the admiral had 
privately sent money for the purpose. Mrs. Penn as 
usual, flew to embrace her son. But his father, sud- 
denly struck with the recollection of his former harsh 
treatment of William, manifested a momentary embar- 
rassment ; but quickly recovering himself he rose, and 
with a sligbt sufTusion on his cheeks, stepped forward 
reaching out an eager hand, and calling, " come, Wil- 
ham, my dear son, welcome to your father's embraces. 
You saw me a little embarrassed, but no matter for 
that ; if I was angry with you, I meant it for your 
good as I thought ; but, thank God, I have lived to see 
my error ; and also to congratulate you, my dear child, 
that you were so early a favourite of your God." 
Such a speech from so great an officer as admiral 
Penn, ought never to be forgotten by the young, whom 
it should instruct that the bravest miCn have always 
been the first to acknowledge error, and to seek the 
heartfelt satisfaction of making friends with the injured. 
From a father, ever so highly honoured, this speech 
greatly afTected William Penn, especially when he saw 
in the looks of that honoured father such evident 
symptoms of a constitutional decay and speedy disso- 
lution. The admiral understood the meaning of the 
tender melancholy that so suddenly settled on Wil- 
liam's countenance ; with his frequent sighs, which 
served but to attach him the more to his beloved 
child. " I am going, my son," said he to William, "I 
am going ; and very fast* toe ; and I am thankful above 
measure that you are with -me, and that things havtc 



WILLIAM PENN. 105 

worked about into such a good trim at last, as I have 
been so long wishing. And now my dear boy you 
must stay with me and see the last of me."" 

William Penn had his hands full at this time, many as- 
sailants having risen up rudely attacking himself as well 
as the religious opinions of the people he patronised. 
In addition to this he had just commenced his career 
as a preacher of the gospel, to which his heart was 
entirely devoted. But when he saw the low and lan- 
guishing state of his father ; and in his pale and ema- 
ciated looks recognized the dear author, under God, 
of his own existence, with all his advantages of educa- 
tion and high standing in life, he was so affected that 
he resolved to stay at home and aid his mother in the 
pious work of cheering his declining hours and 
smoothing his rapid descent to the grave. Then was 
seen the blessed, blessed power of religion to open 
the understanding to a sense of parental obligation, and 
to warm the heart with such filial gratitude, as to 
cause a young man cheerfully to give up every thing 
else and find no place so dear to him as the bedside 
of a sick parent. Then also was seen the wide dif- 
ference between gold and love to qualify for the ten- 
der offices of nursing and waiting in the house of 
mourning. The coarsest hireling can bring to the sick 
man his food, and can administer his physic. But it be- 
longs solely to love to perform these offices in such an 
endearing way as to give them their proper refreshing 
effect. And here it was that William Penn shone in 
full lustre. He was not the Esau, the rough man 
whose duties coldly and reluctantly performed, only 
served to show ingratitude and to grieve a father's 
heart ; but he was the fond and affectionate Jacob 
whose love made him all eye, all ear, all attention to 
anticipate his wishes and make him fly to supply them 
even before they were breathed. And whatever he 
did, whether it was to raise his father in bed, or to 
smooth his pillow, or to wipe the cold sweat from his 



106 THE LIFE OF 

brow, or the phlegm from his hps, all was done with 
such alacrity and tenderness as to cause the good old 
admiral daily to lift the eye of gratitude to God for such 
a child. And indeed few parents ever had more cause 
to be thankful for such a child. For William Penn's 
ardent love and unwearied attention to his father was 
but a small part of his recommendations. His extra- 
ordinary talents, his studious habits, his rare acquire- 
ments, together with his gravity, his dignity of deport- 
ment, his unsullied morals and sublime principles of 
religion, all, all conspired to furnish this happy parent 
with an overwhelming flow of joy and thankfulness on 
his dear account. And to see such a son as this, taking 
all these his rare advantages and attainments, and with 
the sweetest humility and affection, laying them at the 
feet of his aged father, as if he had received all from 
him, and found no pleasure equal to that of returning 
all to him again. O how gratifying must this have 
been to the soul of admiral Penn, especially when he 
recollected that he had, twice, turned this same child 
out of doors. How fully now must he have been 
convinced that this his son " had learned^ as he ought, 
the truth as it is in Jesus P'' It appears that he be- 
came completely a convert to the same blessed faith 
as it is preached and exemplified in the simple child- 
like spirit and manners of the friends. Then it was 
that the pride, and ambition, and worldly mindedness 
of the bishops and clergy began to lay heavy upon his 
heart ; and he often said in his latter moments, that he 
was " awfully afraid that the corrupt examples of the 
national church, with those of the dissolute nobility 
would overwhelm the country with ruin.'''' Feeling his 
€nd approaching, and seeing the dark cloud of perse- 
cution hanging over his son's head, because of his re- 
ligion, he sent a friend to the Duke of York, (after- 
terwards King James II. under whom he had fought 
that great battle against the Dutch fleet) desiring it of 
iiim as a death-bed request that he would protect hi€ 



WILLIAM PENN. t07 

son in case of persecution ; and to ask the king 
(Charles the 2d) to do the same. They both returned 
a comfortable answer — " that they would assuredly he 
WilliaiTi's friends,'''' The day before his death, he 
said, " son WilHam, I am weary of the world ! 1 would 
not live over my days again if I could command them 
with a wish, for the snares of life are greater than the 
fears of death. Three things I commend to you. 
First and above all, let nothing ever tempt you to 
wound your conscience O he tender of your con- 
science ! so you v/iil Wma peace at home and a rich 
feast in a day of trouble. Secondly, whatever you 
design to do, lay it justly and time it seasonably ; for 
that gives security and despatch. — Thirdly, be not 
troubled at losses and disappointments ; for if they 
may be recovered, well ; if not, trouble is vain. If 
you could not have helped it, be content, and trust in 
Providence, whose afflictions are for our good. And 
if you could have helped it, let 7iot your trouble exceed 
instruction for another time /" 

His dissolution which had been rapidly advancing, 
began now sensibly to appear upon him : he felt its 
cold and icy approach without the least alarm. His 
last words contained the highest eulogy ever pro- 
nounced on the TRUTH. ^'' Son WiUiamy'' said he, 
looking at him with the most composed countenance, 
" i/* y^^ ^^^^ your friends keep to your plain way of 
preaching, and keep to your plain way of living, you 
will make an end of the proud priests to the end of 
the world. — Bury me by my mother — live all in love — 
shun all manner of evil ; and I pray God to bless you 
all! and he will bless you all.""^ He then bowed him 
in his bed and gave up the ghost. 

By the death of his father, William Penn became 
owner of a very handsome estate, supposed to be 
worth at that time 1 300/. sterling per annum, equal 
to 15,000 dollars now; besides an immense sum of 
money due to him from the crown, for loans made bv 



108 THE LIFE OF 

his father, and which he had been kept out of for a 
long time, as we shall see in the next chapter. 






CHAPTER XVII. 

" WHO can tell what is gQpd for man in this life ?" 
was a question which staggered Solomon himself, with 
all his wisdom ; and which, indeed, he proposes not 
with any idea of ever solving it, but rather of throw^ 
ing out to us a comfortable hint that there is ONE 
who knows what is good for man in this life, and that 
we should bow with reverential joys to that adorable 
will which can easily convert what we think the hea- 
viest misfortune into the greatest blessing. 

To be kept out of their money, especially if a large 
sum, is felt by the most of men as a serious misfortune. 
It was so felt by admiral Penn, William's father. This 
patriotic officer, for the glory of the British navy, was 
continually making it loans out of his own private 
purse, and with such a sailor-like neglect of calcula- 
tion, that when he came to cast up the account, he 
found, to his utter astonishment, that the government 
owed him the affrightening sum of sixteen thousand 
pounds sterling, equal, as money now goes, to two 
hundred thousand dollars ! After a world of fruit- 
less applications to the crown, the good admiral sick- 
ened and died, leaving this vast debt to his son to col- 
lect. William's applications to government were 
equally unavailing ; but, happily, his mind was so 
greatened by the mighty objects of religion, that he 
suffered but little from this disappointment. After a 
lapse of many years, and his prospects of payment 
from the crown continuing as gloomy as ever, he pro- 
posed to the king, Charles the Second, an exchange of 



WILLIAM PENN. 109 

his claim for a grant of lands in North America. Wil- 
liam Penn had his reasons for this. 

In the first place, he saw no chance of ever getting 
his money out of the hands of the king. And, in the 
second place, he saw no end to the persecutions of 
himself and his poor friends, the quakers. Even at 
this time, 1680, so larhentably ignorant of the spirit of 
the gospel were the bishops of the established church 
that they not only tolerated, but even encouraged thd 
mad multitude in the most cruel abuses of the quakers. 
Headed by the sheriffs and magistrates, the populace 
would snatch off their hats and bonnets in the open 
streets, even of Liverpool, Bristol, and London, and 
dash them in their faces, or tread them under foot. 
They would burst into their meeting-houses, even 
while assembled in the worship of Almighty God ! 
and utterly regardless of the divine presence, drive 
them out like dogs ; break the windows ; split up the 
benches ; tear down the gallerk)s ; and then nail up 
the buildings as forfeited to "his sacred majesty, 

CHARLES THE SECOND, BY THE GRACE OF GOD DS- 

FENDER OF THE FAITH ! !" and yct, instead of being 
ashamed of themselves for such brutal acts, or being 
disarmed of their fury by the meekness and patience 
of such gentle sufferers, they became more brutal 
against them still, keeping a closer watch over their 
proceedings — dogging them from place to place — at- 
tacking them at their meetings, even in private houses-^ 
and, after shutting them up too, as "CONVExNTI- 
CLES forfeited to the Icings'''' they would then drive 
them, like convicts, to the jails, and, without any re^ 
gard to the weather, or to age or sex, turn them into 
dark and dirty rooms, often in such crowds as to en- 
danger their lives, for want of fresh air ; the women, 
even the most delicate, forced to sleep on the hard 
planks, and the men in hammocks stretched above 
them, while such as were supposed to have property, 
were fined at the most inhuman rates, even, in some 
K 



110 THE LIFE OF 

instances, at twenty pounds sterling a month, for no 
attending the established church ! and when the money 
could not be raised by these poor people, as was often 
the case, the sheriffs would distrain their property, such 
as cows, calves, horses, beds, household furniture, 
and utensils, and sell them off, frequently at half 
price ; thus actually reducing many an innocent and 
hard-working family, with their unoffending children, 
to beggary. And all these public robberies committed 
under the eye of king Charles and his clergy ! — the 
former, great part of his time, revelling with his har- 
lots and jesters ! and the latter, in all the solemn pa- 
geantry of sanctified looks and lawn sleeves, devoutly 
lifted to heaven, returning " thanks to Almighty God. 
that they were ever born in a Christian country 'j'''' 
and making long prayers ^'■for the poor Jews and hea- 
thens r 

William Penn, I say, seeing no end to these cruel 
persecutions of himself and innocent followers, very 
naturally turned his thoughts to North America, whither 
the ROMAN-CATHOLIC Christians, and the Presbyte- 
rian Christians, had just before been flying, by thou- 
sands, from the fury of the church of England Chris- 
tians I (O glory to God that there is yet one govern- 
ment left on earth where the demagogues of one 
church are not permitted to persecute and plunder the 
rest.) 

But the generous wish to place his friends beyond 
the reach of persecution was not the sole motive with 
William Penn for looking towards North America. He 
had a nobler motive still. His mind had long been 
ravished with the beautiful ideas of a state of society 
formed on the humble and loving spirit of the gospel. 
That blessed state, where religion, stript of all her har- 
lot-like trumpery of barren forms ^ and adorned in her 
matron robes of divine simplicity, fruitful of love and 
good works, should so illumine the wilderness, that 
the Heathens, enamoured of her divine charms, should 



WILLIAM PENN. Ill 

press to become her converts and children. Eager to 
plant such a colony of brothers in America, William 
Penn applied to king Charles for a grant of land in 
that country, ^^ which., as was expressed in the petition^ 
he was wiUing to receive in exchange for the sixteen 
thousand pounds so long due to his family.'''' 

It would appear that that hand, which is so visible 
in the growth of the lily and in the preservation of the 
sparrow, was with William Penn in this great matter. 
It was this hand, it is presumed, that had, so early as 
1G61, turned his thoughts to North America, as to an 
asylum for his oppressed brethren. And it was this 
hand, it is still believed, that had led him, in 1675, to 
be concerned in the settlement of a small colony of 
FRIENDS in East (now called J^ew Jersey) and princi- 
pally about Mount Holly and Burlington. From these 
people he often learned that the Indian country on 
the western side of the great river Delaware was most 
beautiful to look on — " the plaiiis,^^ said they, " along 
the winding food^ are in most places covered with corn 
and natural meadows and marshes ; while all on the 
hack of this, a mighty forest rose, tall and stately, 
darkening the western sky with its blue shade, and 
stretching itself north and south with the river far as 
the astonished eye can travel.'''' They stated too, that 
sundries of their people had, at different times, gone 
over the great river to trade ; and that all of them, on 
their return, had made the same very favourable re- 
ports both of the inhabitants and their country. And 
first of the inhabitants. " With respect to these,''"' said 
they, " we were never so agreeably disappointed. We 
had expected to find a people fierce and rude as the 
bears and panthers of their forests : but we met a peo- 
ple the most friendly that we had ever seen. As we 
approached their towns, they would hasten forth to bid 
us welcome, shaking hands with us very cordially, and 
signifying, by the kindest smiles and nods, how glad they 
were to see us ; and with great vehemence and affec- 



112 THE LIFE OP 

tion, addressing us in words which the interpreters 
said, were to tell us how welcome w^e were to our In- 
dian BROTHERS. After this they would take us to their 
towns, and spread down skins for us to sit on ; and 
while the men entertained us with sjiiokirig^ the wo- 
men would bring us barbecued turkies, and venison, 
and roasting ears to feast on. 

" And as to the country, we can truly say of it, 
that it is a land most rich and desirable to dwell in ; 
a land of fountains and brooks, a land of mighty oaks 
and elms, and all manner of precious trees for timber, 
a land whose soil, especially on the w^ater-courses, was 
a black mould very deep and rich, insomuch that the 
Indian corn, without the aid of the plough, grew there 
to an enormous size, with two and sometimes three 
large shocks on a stalk ; and we have counted seven 
and eight hundred grains on a shock ! And then for 
the GAME in those ancient forests — it was wonderful 
to look at ; far sarpassing in abundance any thing that 
we had ever thought of. For in w^alking through the 
woods, we w^ere ever and anon starting up the deer 
in droves ; and also frequently wnthin sight of large 
herds of the buffaloe, all perfectly wild, and w^allowing 
in fat, and seeming, in their course, to shake the earth 
with their weight. And, indeed, no wonder ; for the 
grass, particularly in the low grounds, grew so rank 
and tall, that the buffaloe and deer, on flying into it, 
which they were wont to do when frightened, would 
disappear in a moment. 

" The rabbits and partridges too w^ere exceedingly 
numerous ; and as to the wmM turkeys, we have often, 
seen them perched in such numbers on the nut-trees, 
especially the beech, that the branches seemed qUite 
black with them. Nor had the Creator been less mind- 
ful of the waters in that great country ; foi they were 
made to bring forth abundantly of fine fish of various 
kinds, especially the sturgeon, of which the great river 
was so full, that at no time could we look on it with- 



WILLIAM PENN. Hj 

out seeing numbers of those great fishes leaping from 
it into the air, not without much fright to the natives, 
whose canoes they have many a time fallen into and 
overset. And for water-fowl, such as geese and ducks, 
they were m such quantities, that he who should tell 
only one half of the truth, would be counted a roman- 
ce: ; for indeed the whole surface of the mighty river 
seemed covered over and black with them ; and when 
at any time they were disturbed and rose up, their 
rising all at once was like the sound of distant thunder, 
and the day itself was darkened with their numbers. 
We saw also the wild vine in that country, the spon- 
taneous birth of the woods, growing to an enormous 
size, and spreading over the trees to an astonishing 
extent, bending the branches with their dark-blue 
clusters, most lovely to sight and taste, and capable, 
no doubt, of yielding a very pleasant wine. Nor were 
the bees forgotten in that favoured land ; for we often 
saw them at work among the sweet-scented bells and 
blossoms of the wild wood-flowers. And besides, at the 
simple feasts spread for us by these friendly heathens, 
we were frequently regaled with calabashes of snow- 
white honey-comb." 

Now, counting all these advantages of this Indian 
country, the nobleness of its waters, and the richness 
of its lands, with that plenteousness of fowl and fisih 
and ilesh of all sorts, how can we but say that it is a 
land which the Lord has blessed ; and that it only 
wanteth a wise people to render it like the ancient 
Canaan — "/Ae glory of earth.'''' 

Such were the accounts which the settlers in New 
Jersey often reported in their letters to William Penn, 
concerning the great country on the western side of 
the Delaware. They produced on him their proper 
effect. Looking on all this as a finger pointing him to a 
place of long-desired ?est, he immediately presented a 
petition to king Charles the 2d, "• praying that, in lieu 
of the monies due to him from the crown ^ he^ thr kmo^ 

K 2 



114 THE LIFE OF 

would be pleased to grant him a sufficient portion of lands 
on the western side of the Delaware river in North 
America for a stttlement for himself and his persecuted 
followers the Friends.'''' The king was we!) pleased 
with the petition, himself, and had it laid before the 

LORDS COMMITTEE OF COLONIES AND COMMERCE. 

Soon as the petition was read, and it was known that 
both the petitioner and his followers were quakers, the 
.^o^rd appeared as if struck into a strange sort of dilem- 
ma. " A colony of quakers among the North American 
Indians /'' The very name and sound of the thing ex- 
cited a general stare. And it was unanimously agreed 
that no good could possibly grow out of it, either to 
the nation or the individuals. As to the first, "?i was 
ridiculous^'''' said sir John Warden, agent of the Duke 
of York and Lord Baltimore, who having grants of 

" THE PLANTATIONS OF NEW YORK AND MARYLAND," 

were opposed to the petition. — " It was ridiculous,"^ 
said he, " to suppose that the interests of the British 
nation were to be promoted by sending out a colony 
of people that would 7iot fight.'''' " What! a pack of 
noddies that will have nothing to do with gin or gun- 
powder ; but will gravely tell you that gin was never 
invented to make savages drunk, and cheat them out of 
their lands ; but only for physic to cure the cholic with- 
al. And that guns were invented, not to kill men, but 
hawks and wolves ! God's mercy on us, my lords ! 
what are we to expect from such colonists as these I 
Are they likely to extend our conquests — to spread 
our commerce — to exalt the glory of the British name 
— and above all to propagate our most holy reli- 
gion ? No, my lords, I hope it will never be so sup- 
posed by this noble board. — And as to this crack- 
brained fellow, this William Penn and his tame, yea 
forsooth, followers, what can they promise themselves 
from settling among the fierce and blood-thirsty sa- 
vages of North America, but to be tomahawked and 
scalped, every man, woman, and child of them !" 



WILLIAM PENN. 115 

This speech, pronounced with due emphasis, made 
such an impression on the boards that they were on 
the point of rejecting William Penn's petition at once. 
And thus that beauteous city of Philadelphia, that 
loveliest monument of the blessings of God on human 
virtue, would have been lost for ever. But he whose 
glorious prerogative it is to make even " the wicked- 
ness of man to praise him^'''' appointed one of the lords 
of the BOARD to advocate William Penn's petition ; 
which he did with singular ingenuity. With trembling 
voice and changeful countenance, as of a man about to 
utter unwelcome truths, he began with assuring the 
board that he was no quaker^ nor any friend to that 
silly people. " No, my lords," continued he, raising 
his voice, " I am no quaker. And I pray you let no gen- 
tleman in this noble house, hold me in such misprison^ 
But still, my lords, I am in favour of the petition for the 
quakers to go off to North America. The reason, my 
lords, to my mind is very plain. The swinish multi- 
tude, my lords, profanum vulgus, my lords, the swinish 
multitude as we properly call them, must have a go- 
vernment ; yes, my lords, and an iron government too. 
They have not sense and virtue enough to govern them- 
selves. All the boasted republics, or governments 
^f the people, have, on trial, turned out no better than 
BABELS of confusion and destruction to their foolish 
undertakers. No, my lords, there is no government 
on earth for the profanum vulgus, comparable to 
^hat of KINGS, priests, and nobles. Now if this be 
true, and I challenge the board to deny it, then Wil- 
liam Penn and his quakers ought gladly to be permit- 
ted to leave the country. Nay, I even assert, my 
lords, that William Penn cannot stay in this country 
consistently with the safety of the government ; for if 
ever he should get the ear of the populace, he would 
bring such contempt on those glorious privileged orders 
of KiNq^s, priests, and nobles, that no man of spirit 
would have any thing to do with them. For, my 



116 THE LIFE OF 

lords,'*'^ said he, " what nobleman is there, with a drop 
of English blood in his veins, but would blush for his 
STARS and garters, when, as he rolls along the streets 
in only a fashionable coach and four, he hears on all 
sides, the groans of these quakers upbraiding him for 
being *' a lover of pleasure more than a lover of God^^"* 
and for squandering on vanities that precious gold, 
which if laid out in feeding and clothing the fatherless 
and widow^ would yield him a feast of never-failing 
pleasures ! And as to our lords spiritual, our bishops 
and our archbishops would it not make these our 
HOLY FATHERS in GoD, ashamcd of their sacred lawn 
SLEEVES and mitres, to be told everyday by William 
Penn and his quakers, that these are ' the marks of the 
beast,'' the vain trappings of carnal pride seeking glory 
of men, and that those who use these things are none 
of Christ's — that his poverty can have no fellowship 
with their palaces — nor his staff and sandals with their 
gilt coaches, and horses covered with silver harness, 
and grooms bedecked with gold lace. But this is not 
the worst yet ; no my lords, let William Penn alone, 
and his sacred majesty himself will soon have an un- 
easy seat of it on his throne. How can he otherwise, 
my lords, having it rung daily in his ears, that ' kitigs 
are sent of God merely in his wrath as a pimishment of 
wicked nations.'' And that if the}' will but repent and 
become good quakers, following the light within^ they 
shall no longer have a king to reign over them ; for that 
God himself will be their king, and will break all other 
yokes from off their necks. God's mercy, my lords ! 
who would be a king to be rated after this sort ? Surely 
then, my lords, you will agree with me, that it is high 
time for William Penn and his quakers to be off. Yes, 
my lords, I repeat it ; they must he off^ or this excel- 
lent government of kings, priests, and nobles, is gone 
for ever, and chaos, and wild uproar is come again." 

This speech produced the desired effect. The pe- 
tition was unanimously recommended to the approba- 



WILLIAM PENN. 117 

tlon of his gracious majesty, accompanied with a note, 
" humbly praying that his majesty would be graciously 
pleasedto make unto William Perm a grant of the lands 
in Korth America^ which he had petitioned for.''"' 

Charles, who, hke Herod of old towards the honest 
Baptist, had a great liking for William Penn, was well 
pleased with this award of the hoard in his favour ; 
and knowing that the news would be very acceptable, 
immediately despatched a special messenger to him on 
that errand. The king was right in this conjecture. 
The news was indeed very acceptable to William 
Penn. His heart had been much in this North American 
enterprise. The glory of God in the spread of human 
happiness — the beauty of gospel virtues to charm the 
savages — to overcome their hatreds — to conciliate 
their loves — and to unite them, like brothers, with his 
gentle followers, these were lovely ideas to his mind. 
Nor less were the fair scenes thence ensuing — the 
white men bringing to their red brethren all the rich 
productions of their looms and anvils ; on the other 
hand, the red men smiling with friendship, bringing to 
their white brothers, their venison and corn, with 
grants of rich lands for them to dwell together in. 
Then to see them both rising, like brothers indeed, to 
the glorious toils that crown life with comfort — erect- 
ing pleasant habitations and spreading beautiful farms — 
while, aided by science and religion, human nature 
shakes oif its brutal character and becomes angelic, 
presenting a spectacle of all others the most lovely to 
the eyes of God and good men. Such was the picture 
which William Penn's benevolent fancy had long been 
painting in North America — " the desert blossoming like 
the rose, and the wilderness like the gar-den of God,'''' 
Thousands of prayers, had he put up that God would 
realize such bright visions ; and thousands of gold and 
silver had he expended to settle such a colony in the 
new world. And now having prayed his sovereign for 
permission to pass over that Jordan and take possession 



118 THE LIFE OF 

of the desired land, he was waiting to see whether the 
Lord would prosper his way or not. It was a moment 
big with anxiety and hope. No wonder then that the 
news of such full success should have excited the 
sweetest emotions. " Yes, God has heard the voice of 
his prayer / God has appointed unto him the honours of 
Joshua — to lead a remnant into the land of rest : the no- 
bles have been made to consent, and even the king him- 
self is stirred up to convey the greatfnl tidings.'*'' 

Soon as possible he hastened up to court to make 
his acknowledgments to the king ; but not so soon but 
that the king, m right royal generosity, had gotten 
in readiness, fairly drawn up and endorsed " a deed 

OF A CERTAIN NEW PROVINCE IN NoRTH AmERICA, FOR 
MY BELOVED SUBJECT AND FRIEND WiLLIAM PeNN." 

It is not easy to conceive the feelings of this amiable 
man, when, introduced into the drawing-room of the 
palace, he was met by his sovereign and presented 
with the above deed. " Well, friend William," said the 
king in his frolicksome way, " you'll see in this paper 
that I have done something handsome for you. Yes, 
man, I have given you there a territory in North Ameri- 
ca, as large as my own Island of Great Britain. And 
knowing what a fighting family you are sprung from, 
I have made you governor and captain general of all 
its coasts, and seas, and bays, and rivers, and moun- 
tains, and forests, and population. And now in re- 
turn for all this I have but a few conditions to make 
with you." 

William Penn begged the king would please to let 
him know what they were. 

Why, in the first place, replied Charles, you are to 
give me a fifth of all the gold and silver you may find 
there. But as you quakers care but little about 
the precious metals, I don't count on much from that 
quarter. 

In the second place, friend William, you are to be 
sure not to make war on the nations without my con- 



WILLIAM PENN. il9 

sent. But in case of a war you are always to remem- 
ber that you are an Englishman, and therefore must 
never use the scalping knife. 

In the third place, if any persons of my religion, the 
honest Episcopalians^ would wish to come and settle 
in your quaker province, you shall receive them 
kindly : and if they should at any time invite a preacher 
of their own, he shall be permitted to come among 
you. And moreover, if they should like to build what 
we call a church, (but you a steeple-house^) you will 
not forbid it." 

William Penn smiled and said that friend Charles, 
for so he often called the king, " should certainly be 
gratified in all these things : for," added he, " I who 
have drank so deeply of the bitter waters of persecution 
myself, will never, I hope, consent to persecute others 
on the score of religion." On retiring from the royal 
presence, William Penn hastened to inspect his charter 
to the new province ; when lo ! at the very threshold 
he met an article that set his cheeks all on a glow — 
he found that his province was named PENN-SYL- 
VANIA ! that is, in English, " the woody land of 
Penn." Blushing at the bare idea of the enormous 
vanity which this name might argue, he hurried to the 
recorder and begged he would change the name. The 
recorder, who happened to be a Welshman, said to 
him, " well then, what name would hu? like to give to 
har province .?" 

New Wales, replied William Penn. The Welshman 
answered that this name being a compliment to his 
own native country, ought certainly to be very ac- 
ceptable to him. But, continued he, " though hur 
should be well pleased to hear hur province called New 
Wales, yet hur has no business to alter the present 
name,'*'' Upon this Penn drew his purse and offered 
him twenty guineas to alter the name. The Welsh- 
man still refusing, Penn repaired to the king to have 
it done. To this the king, in his jocose way, replied 



120 "THE LIFE 01^ 

that as he had stood God-father for the new pro- 
vince, he had, as he thought, a fair right to give it a 
name : that he had accordingly given it a very good 
name ; and should take the blame on himself.^'' 

Having obtained his charter under the great seal of 
England, Penn lost no time to inform the public of 
the fair territory which he had purchased in North 
America, and also the terms on which he meant to 
dispose of it. This publication excited considerable 
emotion throughout Great Britain. It was observed, 

In the first place. That " while lands in England, 
sold from twenty to sixty pounds sterling per acre, 
William Penn offered his lands, fresh and heavy tim- 
bered, for forty shillings the hundred acres ! being but 
little more thdiU four pence an acre! with but one shil- 
ling per hundred acres as quit rent, to the proprietor 
for ever !'• 

" Secondly, That while lands in England rented from 
one to three pounds sterling, per acre, WiUiam Penn 
offered his for one shilling !" 

" Thirdly, That while in England it was a trans 
portation offence to kill a rabbit or partridge ! and 
few, except the nobility, ever tasted venison, in Penn- 
sylvania any boy big enough to draw a trigger might 
knock down a fat buck in the woods whenever he 
pleased. And as to rabbits and partridges, they were 
so abundant that the very children, if they but knew 
how to set traps and pack-thread snares, might always 
keep the house full of such savoury game." 

If these are talked of by all, as great natural re- 
commendations of Pennsylvania, the moral recom- 
mendations were still far greater ; for it was observed, 

" Fourthly, That while in England the servants were 
a people but poorly rewarded for their services ; in 
Pennsylvania all servants, men or women, were to be 
allowed fifty acres in fee simple, to be paid them with 
a good suit of clothes at the expiration of their servi- 
tude ! And the more cheerfully if they had acted 



WILLIAM PENN. 121 

with fidelity as servants, doing all things cheerfully as 
with an eye to the glory of God. 

" Fifth, That while in England, there was but one 
creed, one catechism, one form of prayer, one baptism, 
from which no man or woman might dissent without 
peril of the whipping post, or pillory^ in Pennsylva- 
vania, all who acknowledged " one almighty and eter- 
nal God to be the moral governor of the world, and 
honoured him as such by an honest and peaceable life, 
should be equally protected in their rights, and made 
capable of promotion to office, whether they were 
Jews, Gentiles, or Christians." 

" Sixth, That while in Virginia, Maryland, and New 
England, the settlers were charged with cheating the 
Indians, by putting bad merchandize upon them in ex- 
change for their furs ; in Pennsylvania all merchandize 
offered in trade was to be brought into market and 
exposed to public inspection, so that the Indians might 
no longer be imposed on and provoked. 

" Seventh, That while in the other colonies the In- 
dians were treated very little better than dogs, whom 
every blackguard might kick and cuff, to the exceeding 
diversion of the white Christians ; in Pennsylvania it 
was enacted that the persons and rights of the In- 
dians should be held sacred : and that no man, 
whatever his rank or fortune, should affront or wrong 
an Indian without incurring the same penalty as if he 
had committed the trespass against the proprietor him- 
self 

" Eighth, That while in most new countries settled 
by Christians, if a Christian was injured by a native, 
he might instantly avenge himself even to the knock- 
ing out the brains of the offender ; here it was enacted 
by William Penn, that if " any Indian should abuse a 
planter, the said planter should not be his own judge 
upon the Indian, but apply to the next magistrate who 
should make complaint thereof to the king of the Indian 
for reasonable satisfaction for the injury. 
L 



122 THE LIFE OF 

" Ninth, That while other Christian adventurers 
thought they had a right to treat the inhabitants of 
the countries they discovered, as mere animals of the 
brute creation, whom they might abuse at pleasure, 
William Penn framed his laws with an eye of equal 
tenderness for the Indians and the quakers, ordering 
that " all differences between them should he settled by 
a jury of tzoelve men, six chosen from each party, that 
so they might live friendly together as brethren'''^ — thus 
extending with impartial hand the rights of justice and 
humanity to these poor people, who in proportion to 
their weakness and ignorance, were the more entitled 
to his fatherly protection and care. 

" Tenth, That while in England the children of the 
rich were, too generally, brought up in pride and 
sloth, good for nothing to themselves or others ; in 
Pennsylvania all children of the age of twelve were 
to be brought up to some useful trade, that there might 
be none of the worthless sort in the province ; so that 
the poor might get plenty of honest bread by their 
work, and the rich, if brought low, might not be tempted 
to despair and steal. 

" Eleventh, That while in England, from the mil- 
lions given to the kings, lords, and clergy, the num- 
ber and wretchedness of the poor were so increased, 
that every year hundreds of them were hung for steal- 
ing a little food for themselves and children ; in Penn- 
sylvania there were but two crimes deemed worthy 
of death, i. e. deliberate murder, and treason against 
the state. As for offences requiring confinement, it 
was ordered by William Penn, that in the punishment 
of these an eye was to be constantly kept on the re- 
formation of the offender. And hence all prisons 
were to be considered as workshops, where the crimi- 
nals might be industriously, soberly, and morally em- 
ployed." 

The perusal of this manifesto of William Penn''s, 
diffused a most lively joy through the hearts of all 



WILLIAM PENN. 123 

honest Englishmen ; then what must have been its 
effects on the spirits of those benevolent people the 
FRIENDS ? To them it would have been welcome as 
a ray from the dawning millennium, no matter by what 
hand, God had been pleased to send it. But that one 
of their own long afflicted tribe should be thus raised 
up of God to set such an example to the whole world, 
and revive the hearts of the humble and contrite ones, 
was peculiarly dear. 

The change produced by it among that long op- 
pressed people was wonderful. Till now their ap- 
pearance in the streets was but rare ; and even then 
they made no stop, but hastened along to their busi- 
ness, serious and shy, like persons who know that the 
public favoured them not. But now they are frequently 
seen stopping each other and standing in the streets 
in large groups, shaking hands with glad faces, as men 
are wont who have heard good tidings. And amidst 
their mutual congratulations on the bright prospects 
dawning on themselves and a darkened world, the 
pleasant name of Wilham Penn was often heard. It 
was heard in tones of pious joy triumphant, as when 
the patriarch beheld a ray of hope from the distant 
Shiloh, descending on the head of his beloved Joseph; 
even on the head of him who was separate from his 
brethren. " William, thou art a lovely vine ; even a 
lovely vine by a well, whose branches run over the 
wall." 

The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at 
him, and hated him. 

But his bow abode in strength ; and the arms of his 
hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty 
God of Jacob— from thence is the shepherd— the stone 
pf Israel." 

It now remains to be mentioned that this publica- 
tion of William Penn was followed by consequences 
far beyond what he himself had ever counted on, even 
in bis most sanguine moments. It reminds us of that 



124 THE LIFE OF 

other wonder of the world, Solomon's temple. We 
read of this heaven-ordered edifice, that when the noble 
materials, the stones and timbers were all hewn and 
fitted for the purpose, and the golden trumpet sounded 
to the work, straightway the workmen, whether Jews, 
Tyrians, or Sidonians, all rose up as one man, and the 
sacred building was put together with such perfect 
harmony, that no discordant sound of a hammer was 
even once heard to disturb that sacred silence. Such 
throughout Great Britain was the etTect of William 
Penn's publication. The general confidence inspired 
by it is without a parallel in the annals of a private 
man. Trading companies immediately bought their 
thousands and tens of thousands of acres : while 
crowds of individuals from all parts of the empire were 
seen leaving their homes and the bones of their ances- 
tors, that they might go to " the land of william 
PENN," and there, safe from the red scourge of perse- 
cution, lead a peaceable and quiet life in all manner 
of godliness. 

Nor were they the quakers alone who followed his 
fortunes to the \Vestern world. Numbers of the poor 
and pious of other churches, won by the unusual be- 
nignity of his looks, which they had seen as he travelled 
:and preached through the realm, and confiding in that 
good name which all seemed to delight in giving him, 
©ffered themselves to partake of the good or ill fortune 
that awaited him beyond the seas. Having sent o^ three 
ships laden with poor adventurers, and a fourth, in 
which he meant to embark himself, being ready for sea, 
he .hastened up to London, to take leave of \he king 
((Charles the Second) who, though by no means the 
man after his own heart, had yet shown great good will 
towards him, and even a particular friendship. — " Well, 
friend William," said the king in his jocular way, " I 
have sold you a noble province in North America , 
but still I suppose you have no thoughts of going thither 
youfself." 



WILLIAM PENN. 125 

" Yes, I have," replied William Penn, " and I am 
just come to bid thee farewell." 

" What! venture yourself among the savages of North 
America ! Why, man, what security have you that 
you'll not be in their war-kettle in two hours after set- 
ting foot on their shores ?" 

" The best security in the world," replied Wilham 
Penn, calmly. 

" I doubt that, friend William : I have no idea of 
any security against those cannibals but in a regiment 
of good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets. 
And mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my 
good will for you and your family, to whom I am 
under obhgations, I'll not send a single soldier with 
vou." 

" I want none of thy soldiers," answered William 
Penn, pleasantly. " I depend upon something better 
than thy soldiers." 

The king wanted to know what that was, 

" Why, I depend on themselves," replied William 
Penn, " on their own moral sense ; even on that 
^ grace of God which hringeth salvation, and which hath 
appeared unto all men,'' " 

*' I fear, friend William, that that grace has never 
appeared to the Indians of North America." 

" Why not to them as well as to all others !" 

" If it had appeared to them, they would hardly 
have treated my subjects so barbarously as they have 
done." 

" That's no proof to the contrary, friend Charles. 
Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects 
first went to North America, they found these poor 
people the fondest and kindest creatures in the world. 
Every day they would watch for them to come ashore, 
and hasten to meet them, and feast them on their best 
fish, and venison, and corn, which was all that they had. 
In return for this hospitality of the savages, as we 
call them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on 



126 THE LIFE OF 

their country and rich hunting grounds for farms for 
themselves ! Now is it to be wondered at, that these 
much injured people should have been driven to 
desperation by such injustice ; and that, burning 
with revenge, they should have committed some ex- 
cesses?" 

" Well, then, I hope, friend William, you'll not 
complain when they come to treat you in the same 
manner." 

" I am not afraid of it." 

" Aye ! how will you avoid it ? you mean to get 
their hunting grounds too, I suppose." 

" Yes, but not by driving these poor people away 
from them." 

" No, indeed ! how then will you get their lands ?" 

" I mean to buy their lands of them," replied Wil- 
liam Penn, firmly. 

" Buy their lands of them ! why, man, you have al- 
ready bought them of me." 

" Yes, I know I have ; and at a dear rate too : but 1 
did it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou 
hadst any right to their lands." 

" Zounds, man ! no right to their lands I" 

" No, friend Charles, no right at all. What right hast 
thou to their lands ?" 

" Why, the right of discovery — the right which the 
Pope and all Christian kings have agreed to give one 
another." 

" The right of discovery /" replied William Penn, 
half smiling, "a strange kind of right indeed ! Now sup- 
pose, friend Charles, some canoe loads of these Indians, 
crossing the sea, and discovering thy island of Great 
Britain, were to claim it as their own, and set it up 
for sale over thy head, what wouldst thou think 
of it?" 

'^ Why — why — why," replied Charles, blushing, " I 
must confess I should think it a piece of great impu- 
dence in them." 



WILLIAM PENN. 127 

** Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a 
Christian prince too, do that which thou so utterly 
condemnest in these people whom thou callest sa- 
vages ?" 

The king being rather too much staggered to make 
a reply, William Penn thus went on : — " Yes, friend 
Charles, and suppose, again, that these Indians, on thy 
refusal to give up thy island of Great Britain, were to 
make war on thee, and having weapons more destruc- 
tive than thine, were to destroy many of thy subjects, 
and to drive the rest away, wouldst thou not think it 
horribly cruel ?" 

The king, with strong marks of conviction, agreeing 
to this, William Penn thus added : — "Well then, friend 
Charles, how can I, who call myself a Christian, do 
what I should abhor, even in heathens. No, I will not 
do it. I will not use the right to their land, though I 
have bought it of thee at a dear rate. But I will buy the 
right of the proper owners, even of the Indians them- 
selves. By doing this I shall imitate God himself in 
his justice and mercy, and thereby ensure his blessing 
on my colony, if I should ever live to plant one in 
North America." 

Tradition does not report the reply which king 
Charles made to this modest yet cutting reproof ; but it 
is hoped that the American youth will take notice how 
very small indeed, a wicked king appears when placed 
by the side of an honest man. 

" A king may make a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' * that : 
But an honest man's above his might, 

Good troth he dare not paw that." 

Burns. 

Having performed this duty of respect to the king, 
he went dow^n to his country-seat at Worminghurst, 
where he spent one sweetly mournful day with his 

* A', in Scots, means all. 



128 THE LIFE OF 

wife and children, whom he was so soon to leave, and 
perhaps never to see again. The day was passed in a 
very interesting manner, sometimes in the consolatory 
exercises of devotion, or of valuable conversation, sea- 
soned with a heavenly love, and sometimes in writing 
the following letter, which as it is said by good judges 
to be one of the richest pieces of tender, heart-touch- 
ing, family eloquence any where to be met with, I do 
the more cheerfully give it, word for word, to the 
reader. 

" Wormmghurst, 4th of the 6th month (June.) 

" My dear wife and children, 

" My love, which neither sea, nor land, nor death itself 
can extinguish or lessen toward you, most endearedly 
visits you with eternal embraces, and will abide with 
you for ever, and may the God of my life watch over 
you, and do you good in this world and for ever I — Some 
things are upon my spirit to leave with you in your 
respective capacities, as I am to one a husband, and to 
the rest a father, if I should never see you more in this 
world. 

" My dear wife ! — remember thou wast the love of 
my youth, and much the joy of my life ; the most be- 
loved, as well as most worthy of all my earthly com- 
forts ; and the reason of that love was more thy in- 
ward than thy outward excellences, which yet were 
many. God knows, and thou knowest it, I can say it 
was a match of Providence^s making ; and God's image 
in us both was the first thing, and the most amiable and 
engaging ornament in our eyes. Now I am to leave 
thee, and that without knowing whether I shall ever 
see thee more in this world, take my counsel into thy 
bosom, and let it dwell with thee in my stead while 
thou livest. 

" First : — Let the fear of the Lord, and a zeal and 
love to his glory dwell richly in thy heart ; and thou wilt 
watch for good over thyself and thy dear children and 



WILLIAM PENN. 129 

family, that no rude, light, or bad thing be committed , 
else God will be offended, and he will repent himself 
of the good he intends thee and thine. 

" Secondly : — Be diligent in meetings for worship 
and business ; stir up thyself and others herein ; it is 
thy duty and place ; and let meetings be kept once a 
day in the family, to wait upon the Lord, who has 
given us much time for ourselves : and, my dearest, to 
make thy family matters easy to thee, divide thy time, 
and be regular ; it is easy and sweet. Thy retirement 
will afford thee to do it ; as in the morning to view the 
business of the house, and fix it as thou desirest, seeing all 
be in order ; that by thy counsel all may move, and to 
thee render an account every evening. The time for 
work, for walking, for meals, may be certain, at least 
as near as may be : and grieve not thyself with care- 
less servants ; they will disorder thee : rather pa^ them, 
;and let them go, if they will not be better by admoni- 
tions. This is best to avoid many words, which I 
iknow wound the soul, and offend the Lord. 

" Thirdly : — Cast up thy income, and see what it 
daily amounts to ; by which thou mayest be sure to 
have it in thy sight and power to keep within com- 
pass : and I beseech thee to live low and sparingly, till 
my debts are paid, and then enlarge as thou seest it 
convenient. Remember thy mother's example, when 
thy father's public-spiritedness had worsted his estate 
(which is my case.) 

" I know thou lovest plain things, and art averse to 
the pomps of the world ; a nobility natural to thee. I 
write not as doubtful, but to quicken thee, for my sake, 
to be more vigilant herein : knowing that God will 
bless thy care, and thy poor children and thee for it. 
My mind is wrapt up in a saying of thy father's. " I 
desire n©t riches, but to owe nothing ;" and truly that 
IS wealth : and more than enough to live is a snare at- 
tended with many sorrows. I need not bid thee be 
humble, for thou art so ; nor meek and patient, for it 



130 THE LIFE OF 

is much of thy natural disposition ; but 1 pray thee he 
oft in retirement with the Lord, and guard against en- 
croaching friendships. Keep them at arm^s length^for 
it is giving away our power, aye and self too, into the 
possession of another ; and that which might seem en- 
gaging in the beginning may prove a yoke and burden 
too hard and heavy in the end. Wherefore keep do- 
minion over thyself, and let thy children, good meet- 
ings, and friends, be the pleasure of thy life. 

" Fourthly :~And now, my dearest, let me recom- 
mend to thy care my dear children ; abundantly be- 
loved of me, as the Lord's blessings, and the sweet 
pledges of our mutual and endeared affections. Above 
all things endeavour to breed them up in the love of 
virtue, and that holi/ plain way of it which we have 
lived in, that the world in no part of it get into my 
family. I had rather they were homely than finely 
bred as to outward behaviour, yet I love sweetness 
mixed with gravity, and cheerfulness tempered with 
sobriety. Rehgion in the heart leads into this true 
civility, teaching men and women to be mild and cour- 
teous in their behaviour, an accomplishment worthy 
indeed of praise. 

" Fifthly : — Next breed them up in a love one of an- 
other : tell them it is the charge I left behind me ; and that 
it is the way to have the love and blessing of God upon 
them ; also what his portion is, who hates, or calls his 
brother fool. Sometimes separate them, but not long; 
and allow them to send and give each other small 
things to endear one another with. Once more, I 
say, tell them it was my counsel they should be ten- 
der and affectionate one to another. For their learn- 
ing be hberal. Spare no cost ; for by such parsimony 
all is lost that is saved : but let it be useful knowledge, 
such as is consistent with truth and godliness, not 
cherishing a vain conversation or idle mind : for inge-' 
nuity mixed with industry is good for the body and 
mind too. I recommend the useful parts of mathe* 



WILLIAM PENN. 131 

matics, as building houses or ships, measuring, survey- 
ing, dialling, navigation ; but agriculture is especially 
in my eye. Let my children be husbandmen and 
housewives. It is industrious, healthy, honest, and of 
good example, like Abraham and the holy ancients, 
who pleased God, and obtained a good report. This 
leads to consider the works of God and nature, of 
things that are good, and diverts the mind from being 
taken up with the vain arts and inventions of a luxu- 
rious world. It is commendable in the princes of 
Germany, and the nobles of that empire, that they 
have all their children instructed in some useful oc- 
cupation. Rather keep an ingenious person in the 
house to teach them, than send them to schools, too 
many evil impressions being commonly received there. 

" Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross 
it as to learning : let them not dwell too hug on one 
thing ; but let their change be agreeable, and all their 
diversions have some little bodily labour in them. 
When grown big, have most care for them : for then 
there are more snares both within and without. When 
marriageable, see that they have worthy persons in 
their eye, of good life, and good fame for piety and un- 
derstanding. I need no wealth, but sufficiency ; and 
be sure their love be dear, fervent, and mutual, that it 
may be happy for them. 

" I choose not they should be married to earthly, 
covetous kindred ; and of cities and towns of concourse 
beware ; the world is apt to stick close to those who 
have lived and got wealth there : a country life and 
estate I like best for my children. I prefer a decent 
mansion, of a hundred pounds per annum, i. e. a neat 
house and fifty or sixty acres in the country, before ten 
thousand pounds in London, or such like place, in a 
way of trade. In fine, my dear, endeavour to breed 
them dutiful to the Lord, and his blessed light, truth, 
and grace in their hearts, who is their Creator, and 
his fear will grow up with them. ' Teach a child ^' 



132 THE LIFE OF 

says the wise man, ' the way thou wilt have him tof 
walk, and when he is old he will not forget if Next,- 
obedience to thee, their dear mother; and that not 
for wrath, but for conscience sake ; liberal to the poor, 
pitiful to the miserable, humble and kind to all ; and 
may my God make thee a blessing, and give thee com- 
fort in our dear children, and in age gather thee to the 
joy and blessedness of the just (where no death shall 
separate us) for ever. 

" And now, my dear children, that are the gifts and 
mercies of the God of your tender father, hear niyr 
counsel, and lay it up in your hearts ; love it morer- 
than treasure, and follow it, and you shall be blessed:^ 
here, and happy hereafter. 

" In the first place, remember your Creator in the' 
days of your youth. O how did God bless Josiah be- 
cause he feared him in his youth ! and so he did Jacobs 
and Joseph, and Moses. 

" O my dear children, remember, and fear, and 
serve him who made you, and gave you to me and 
your dear mother ; that you may live to him, and glorify 
him in your generations ! To do this in your youthful 
days, seek after the Lord, that you may find him ; re- 
membering his great love in creating you ; that you 
are not beasts, plants, or stones, but that he has kept 
you, and given you his grace within, and substance 
without, and provided plentifully for you. This re- 
member in your youth, that you may be kept from the 
evil of the world : for in age it will be harder to over- 
come the temptations of it. 

" Wherefore, my dear children, eschew the appear- 
ance of evil, and love and cleave to that in your hearts 
which shows you evil from good, and tells you when 
you do amiss, and reproves you for it. It is the light 
of Christ that he has given you for your salvation. If 
you do this, and follow my counsel, God will bless 
you in this world, and give you an inheritance in that 
which will never have an end. For the light of Je- 



WILLIAM PENN. 1 33 

sus is of a purifying nature. It seasons those who love 
it and take heed to it, and never leaves such, till it has 
brought them to '•the city of God, that has foundations.'' 
O that you may be seasoned with the gracious nature 
of it ! hide it in your hearts, and flee, my dear children, 
from all youthful lusts ; the vain sports, pastimes, and 
pleasures of the world ; redeeming the time, because 
the days are evil ! — You are now beginning to live. 
What would some give for your time ? Oh ! I could 
have lived better, were 1, as you, in the flower of 
youth ! — Therefore love and fear the Lord ; keep close 
to meetings ; and delight to wait on the Lord God of 
your father and mother, among his despised people, as 
we have done ; and count it your honour to be mem- 
bers of that society, and heirs of that living fellow- 
ship which is enjoyed among them, for the experience 
of which your father's soul blesseth the Lord for 
ever. 

"Next: — Be obedient to your dear mother, a wo- 
man whose virtues and good name is an honour to 
you ; for she hath been exceeded by none in her 
time for her plainness, integrity, industry, humanity, 
virtue, and good understanding; qualities not usual 
among women of her worldly condition and quality. 
Therefore honour and obey her, my dear children, as 
your mother, and your father's love and delight ; nay, 
love her too, for she loved your father with a deep 
and upright love, choosing him before all her many 
suitors ; and though she be of a delicate constitution 
and noble spirit, yet she descended to the utmost ten- 
derness and care for you, performing the painful acts 
of service to you in your infancy, as a mother and a 
nurse too. I charge you before the Lord, honour and 
obey, love and cherish your dear mother. 

"Next:— Betake yourself to some honest, industrious 

course of life, and that not of sordid covetousness, but 

for example, and to avoid idleness. — And if you change 

your condition and marry, choose with the knowledge 

M 



134 THE LIFE OF 

and consent of your mother if living, or of guardians^ 
or those that have the charge of you. Mind neither 
beauty nor riches, but the fear of the Lord, and a sweet 
and amiable disposition, such as you can love above 
all the w^orld, and that may make your habitations 
pleasant and desirable to you. 

" And being married, be tender, affectionate, patient, 
and meek. Live in the fear of the Lord, and he will 
bless you and your offspring. Be sure to live within 
compass ; borrow not, neither be beholden to any. Ruin 
not yourself by kindness to othei^s, for that exceeds the 
due bounds of friendship ; neither will a true friend 
expect it. Small matters I heed not. 

" Let your industry and parsimony go no further 
than for a sufficiency for life, and to make provision 
for your children, and that in moderation, if the Lord 
gives you any. I charge you to help the poor and 
needy ; let the Lord have a voluntary share of your 
income for the good of the poor, both in your society 
and others ; for we are all his creatures ; remember- 
ing that he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord. 

" Know well your in-comings, and your out-goings 
may be better regulated. 

" Love not money, nor the world : use them only, 
and they will serve you ; but if you love them you 
cp.rve them, which will debase your spirits as w^ell as 
offend the Lord. 

" Pity the distressed and hold out a hand of help to 
them ; it may be your case ; and as you mete to others 
God will mete to you again. 

" Be humble, and gentle in your conversation ; of 
few words I charge you ; but always pertinent ; hear- 
ing out before you attempt to answer, and then speak- 
ing as if you would persuade not impose. 

" Affront none, neither revenge the affronts that are 
done to you ; but forgive and you shall be forgiven of 
your heavenly father. 

" In making friends consider well first ; and when 



WILLIAM PENN. 135 

you are fixed be true ; not wavering by reports, nor 
deserting in affliction, for that becomes not the good 
and virtuous. 

" Watch against anger, and neither speak nor act in 
it ; for, hke drunkenness, it makes a man a beast, and 
throws people into desperate inconveniences. 

" Avoid flatterers, for they are thieves in disguise ; 
their praise is costly, designing to get by those they be- 
speak. They are the worst of creatures ; they lie to 
iiatter, and flatter to cheat ; and, which is worse, if you 
beheve them you cheat yourselves most dangerously. 
But the virtuous, though poor, love, cherish, and pre- 
fer. Remember David, who asking the Lord " who 
shall abide in thy tabernacle 1 who shall dwell upon 
thy holy hill ?" answers, " he that walketh uprightly, 
and speaketh the truth in his heart ; in whose eyes the 
vile person is contemned, but honoureth them who 
fear the Lord." 

*' Next, my children, be temperate in all things ; in 
your diet, for that is physic by prevention ; it keeps, nay, 
it makes people healthy, and their generation sound. 
This is exclusive of the spiritual advantage it brings. 
Be also plain in your apparel ; keep out that lust which 
reigns too much over some ; let your virtues be your 
ornaments, remembering life is more than food, and 
the body than raiment. Let your furniture be simple 
and cheap. Avoid pride, avarice, and luxury. Read 
my " No Cross, No Crown." There is instruction. 
Make your conversation with the most eminent for 
wisdom and piety, and shun all wicked men, as you 
hope for the blessing of God and the comfort of your 
father's living and dying prayers. Be sure you speak 
no evil of any, no, not of the meanest ; much less of 
your superiors, as magistrates, guardians, tutors, teach- 
ers, and elders in Christ. 

" Be no busy-bodies ; meddle not with other folks' 
jnattersj but when in conscience and duty pressed \ for 



136 THE LIFE OF 

it procures trouble, and is ill manners, and very un- 
seemly to wise men. 

" In your family, remember Abraham, Moses, and 
Joshua, their integrity to the Lord, and do as you have 
them for your examples. 

" Let the fear and service of the living God be en- 
couraged in your houses, and that plainness, sobriety, 
and moderation in all things, as becometh God's chosen 
people ; and as I advise you, my beloved children, do 
you counsel yours, if God should give you any. Yea, 
I counsel and command them as my posterity, that 
they love and serve the Lord God with an upright 
heart, that he may bless you and yours from genera- 
tion to generation. 

" And as for you, who are likely to be concerned in 
the government of Pennsylvania, and my parts of East 
Jersey, especially the first, I do charge you before the 
Lord God and his holy angels, that you be lowly, dili- 
gent, and tender, fearing God, loving the people, and 
hating covetousness. Let justice have its impartial 
course, and the law free passage. Though to your 
loss protect no man against it, for you are not above 
the law, but the law above you. Live therefore the 
lives yourselves you would have the people to live, 
and then you have right and boldness to punish the 
transgressor. Keep upon the square, for God sees 
you : therefore do your duty, and be sure you see with 
your own eyes, and hear with your own ears. Enter- 
tain no luxuries ; cherish no informers for gain or 
revenge ; use no tricks ; fly to no devices to cover or 
support injustice ; but let your hearts be upright 
before the Lord, trusting in him above the con- 
trivances of men, and none shall be able to hurt or 
supplant you. 

" Oh ! the Lord is a strong God, and he can do what- 
soever he pleases ; and though men consider it not, it 
is the Lord that rules and over-rules in the kingdom 



WILLIAM PENN. 1 37 

of men, and he builds up and pulls down. I, your fa- 
ther, am a man that can say, he that trusts in the Lord 
shall not be confounded. But God, in due time, will 
make his enemies be at peace with him. 

" If you thus behave yourselves, and so become a terror 
to evil doers, and a praise to them that do well, God, 
my God, will be with you in wisdom and a sound mind, 
and make you blessed instruments in his hands for the 
settlement of some of those desolate parts of the 
world, which my soul desires above all worldly ho- 
nours and riches, both for you that go, and you that 
«tay ; you that govern and you that are governed ; that 
in the end you may be gathered with me to the rest 
of God. 

" Finally, my children, love one another with a true 
endeared love, and your dear relations on both sides, 
and take care to preserve tender affection in your chil- 
-dren to each other, often marrying within themselves, so 
as it be without the bounds forbidden in God's law, that 
so they may not, like the forgetting unnatural world, 
grow out of kindred and as cold as strangers, but, as be- 
comes a truly natural and christian stock, you and yours 
after you, may live in the pure and fervent love of 
God towards one another, as becometh brethren in the 
spiritual and natural relation. 

" So my God, that has blessed me with his abun- 
dant mercies, both of this and the other and better 
life, be with you all, guide you by his counsel, bless 
you, and bring you to his eternal glory ! that you may 
shine, my dear children, in the firmament of God's 
power, with the blessed spirits of the just, that celes- 
tial family, praising and admiring him, the God and 
father of it, for ever. For there is no God like unto 
him; the God of Isaac, and of Jacob, the God of the 
Prophets, the Apostles, and Martyrs of Jesus, in whom 
I live for ever. 

" So farewell to my thrice dearly beloved wife and 
i^hildren ! 

M 2 



1S8 THE LIFE OF 

" Yours, as God pleaseth, in that which no waters 
can quench, no time forget, nor distance wear away, 
but remain for ever, 

" William Penn.'' 

The next day leaving his family in tears, but sweet- 
ened with pious hope, and accompanied with several 
friends, he hastened down to Deal, where the ship 
Welcome, with about one hundred adventurers for the 
new country of Pennsylvania, were waiting for him. 

So general and strong among mankind is the confi- 
dence reposed in those who are remarkable for up- 
rightness of life, that, no doubt, every passenger on 
board the Welcome, thought himself perfectly safe with 
William Penn, and counted on nothing but a voyage 
as charming as fine health and smooth seas and plea- 
sant breezes could render it. But ail such should re- 
member, that " God seeth not as man seeth." He the 
infinite King, hath his plans ; and be sure they are such 
as are worthy of his own eternal wisdom and benevo- 
lence. Physical ills, such as sickness, form a part of 
his plan, and therefore should not be looked on as 
any evidence of his displeasure. 

" If plagues and earthquakes mar not heaven's design, 
Then, why a Borgia or a Cataline f 

Accordingly, the Welcome had scarcely gotten to 
sea before the confluent small-pox broke out among 
the passengers, and raged with a fury that presently 
swept no fewer than thirty corpses of them into the 
sea. Here was a fair opportunity for William Penn 
to display that generous sympathy with the unhappy, 
for which he was always so remarkable. And it is 
agreed by all, that his attention to these poor sufferers 
was worthy of a disciple of him who came to wash 
the (eet^ and to administer comfort to the afflicted. 
Day and night he was with the sick, administering 



WILLIAM PENN. 139 

medicines, supplying proper diet, washing, fumigating, 
and sprinkling with vinegar the floors of their cabins ; 
and, above all, chasing from their minds the gloom of 
melancholy and despair, and lifting their thoughts to 
that parent power who wounds but to heal, and with 
divine complacency accepts the tear of repentance, 
even at the eleventh hour. 

After a voyage of six weeks, he reached the capes of 
Delaware Bay, which he entered, and continued his 
course up the same, until he found it narrowed into a 
noble river about two miles wide. To one who had 
been for six weeks beating the gloomy waves with 
nothing but the same unvaried and monotonous pro- 
spect of boundless sea and sky around him, this last day's 
voyage must have been highly entertaining. To have 
been sailing up this great bay, in many places from 10 
to 20 miles wide, and gradually narrowing itself into 
such a majestic river, skirted to the waters' edge with 
natural meadows or marshes of vast extent and most 
lustrous verdure ; and back of these, on either side, 
far as the exploring eye could reach, it beheld nought 
save the startling range of huge forests stretched out 
into an immeasurable expanse, bounded only by the 
distant skies — to a mind, like Penn's, ardently de- 
vout, such magnificent scenes as these must have yield- 
ed indescribable pleasure. In the course of the two 
days sail up this great bay, and at the place where they 
found it narrowed, as aforesaid, to about two miles, 
they beheld with great joy, on a vast plain on the left 
bank of the river, and about ninety miles from the sea, 
a little town, since called Newcastle, and which, with 
some small villages, as Wilmington and Christiana, and 
some country settlements of a few square miles, be- 
longing to a little colony of Swedes and Dutch, who 
settled themselves there as early as 1727. 

These poor people, on seeing the tall ships of Wil- 
liam Penn, were exceedingly alarmed, supposing that 
they were come, according to custom, too common 



140 THE LIFE OF 

among nominal Christians, to attack and break them 
up and their famiHes. But when it was seen, on their 
nearer approach, that the ships carried no cannon for 
murderous war, but were altogether vessels of peace ; 
and also that the mariners on coming ashore, exhibited 
nothing of the fierce looks and fiery regimentals of hu- 
man man-killers, but, on the contrary, were clad in dove- 
like garments, with looks of answering meekness, their 
fears all vanished, and they received William Penn and 
his quakers with exceeding joy and hospitality. — The 
next day he requested a meeting of the magistrates 
and people, who all very promptly assembled them- 
selves in the court-house at Newcastle, to hear what 
he had to say. He told them that he supposed they 
all knew that the country belonged to the English ; but 
he begged that they would not sutler this to give them 
any uneasiness, for that having purchased it from his 
own government, he could very honestly assure them 
that he was not come to diminish, but greatly to in- 
crease, if possible, their enjoyments. He said he placed 
it among the highest happinesses of his hfe, that God 
had called him to the knowledge of the heavenly truth 
as it is in Christ Jesus, whose divine doctrines are 
all summed up in that blessed faith which even the 
poorest and most illiterate may always carry with 
them, that is, '-'• perftci love out of a pure hearth He 
declared that, under the guidance of this sweet and 
holy light and love within^ which Gx)d olfers to all, he 
wanted nothing of them but to make them one people, 
and equally happy with himself and his followers. That 
his own sorrowful suiferings from the cruel persecutions 
of his own countrymen, had taught him most deeply 
to abhor all persecution for religion's sake. That what- 
ever therefore their country or their religion, they 
were entirely secure from persecution from him : that 
even if he should find, on better acquaintance with 
them, that their religious opinions and practices were 
not so good as his, he hoped that so far from hating 



WILLIAM PENN 141 

and persecuting them on that account, he should feel 
a livelier tenderness, and show them greater kindness, 
as being the only gospel way, and therefore the only 
right way to bring them to what he most of all wished 
— the TRUTH. He concluded with saying, that, for the 
present, all he expected of them was to '-^ yield him the 
legal possession of the country.'''' 

This was cheerfully assented to by these poor peo- 
ple ; and with such an air of honest simplicity as af- 
fected him exceedingly. Hereupon he begged they 
would not reflect on this act with any kind of alarm ; 
for that he felt a comfortable hope that neither himr 
self nor those who came after him, would ever abuse 
it. As a proof of his friendship for them, he renewed 
the magistrates' commissions ; intreated they would 
strictly do their duty to discountenance all vicious and 
disorderly persons ; and to encourage and protect the 
peaceable and honest. He then very pathetically beg- 
ged them to remember that they were but as " exiles 
in a strange land, and as a handful of little children in 
a wide wilderness j'''' that the eyes of God were upon 
them, marking their conduct whether it was towards 
his glory by their cheerful and honest industry to make 
the " wilderness blossom like the garden of God," or 
by their idle and vicious courses to cover it with the 
weeds of poverty, and thefts, and murders, and wretch- 
edness. He begged them often to think of the precious 

" PARABLE OF THE TALENTS," and of the GREAT DU- 
TIES now devolved upon them, as — 

1st. How much they owed to God who had called 
them to the honours of so high a trust. 

2d. How much they owed to a young country in 
which they were the frst settlers. 

3d. How much they owed to the natives, the poor 
HEATHENS, whom, by a blessed example of justice and 
MERCY, they might draw to Christ. 

4th. How much they owed to their own poor chil- 
dren, even the comforts of a fair estate ; the bless- 



. 42 THE LIFE OF 

mgs of a PIOUS education ; the sweets of a good name, 
and, in short, all that could render time and eternity 
happy. 

These truths, unspeakably interesting in themselves, 
were rendered much more so by the very earnest and 
affectionate manner with which he delivered them. 
In short, they made such an impression on the minds 
of these poor honest-hearted people, that they could 
not rest until they had selected one of their nation, a 
Lacy Cocke, to wait on him with their thanks, and to 
assure him how heartily they esteemed him, and that 
they should for ever look on this as " otie of the best 
days they had ever seen.'''' 

Having, next morning, taken leave of these poor 
simple people, who, in a body, followed him as a fa- 
ther to the shore ; he went on board and gave command 
to weigh anchor and proceed to finish the great object 
of his voyage. As he sailed along up the mighty flood, 
which he did, that day, about forty miles, his eyes were 
constantly gazing on the western banks, the destined 
seat of his Province, and which for beauty and gran- 
deur of appearance, fully answered all the fair aC' 
counts which had been told him of it by his friends of 
East Jersey. But although his eyes, straining with 
curiosity, were deeply rivetted on those lovely shores, 
yet his thoughts were not there : they were busily 
travelling over the future and the past, with all the 
keenest emotions of alternate joy and sorrow. " Yo 
venerable forests, whose sacred silence was never dis- 
turbed by the sound of the axe, nor your dark brown 
shades pierced by the enlivening sunbeam, O who can 
relate your history ! How long has my poor brother 
man, in joyless hordes, roamed your gloomy wilds, con-' 
tending for food with beasts of prey, or mingling with 
each other in murderous fght ?''"' 

But soon the vermilion of joy with its radiant smiles 
would revisit his cheek, as he remembered the glorious 
change at hand, when the Gospel of Christy now 



WILLIAM PENN. I43 

about to be set before these poor people, not in barren 
faiths, but Heavenly loves, should seize their hearts 
with its ravishing excellences, and mould them into 
one people with his own followers, adopting their gen- 
tle spirit and endearing manners ; and when quitting 
their savage usages of hunting and war, and setting 
themselves to build houses, to plough the fields, and to 
plant orchards and vineyards, they should fill the land 
with corn, wine, and oil, and thus attain all the ele- 
gant pleasures of civilized man. To a heart humble 
and benevolent, like his, ever ready to adore God for 
every notice taken of himself, and for every oppor- 
tunity afforded of doing good to others, what a dav of 
enjoyment must this have been ! O WilUam Penn ! 
how far superior thy pleasures of this single day, to all 
that Caesar or Napoleon, with their restless pride and 
tormenting ambition, ever tasted ! 

" One self-approving hour whole years outweighs, 

Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas." pofb« 

After sailing this day, as aforesaid, about forty miles 
before the mid-summer's smoky breeze, they opened, 
on the larboard, a beautiful little river, whose silver 
waves serpentining from the north-west, joined the 
parent Delaware through a mouth almost hid amidst 
the luxuriant grass, hence by the Dutch called Schuyl- 
kill ; the Indian name was Manajung. Having pass- 
ed this, and also a long grassy point, he beheld the great 
river gentlv windmg to the left, and then as gradually 
turning out ^o the right again, thus, in the shape of a 
magnificent holf moon rolling along its mighty flood, 
with a beautiful little island lying out to the right ; and 
on the left an expended level of handsome elevation, 
and shaded with massy oaks — and a little further up, 
two Indian villages rear the water. A site combining 
so much natural grandeur and convenience, could 
hardly escape the discerning eye of William Penn, 



144 THE LIFE OF 

who was, at once, so struck with it, that he ordered 
the anchors to be cast, which was instantly done, near- 
ly opposite to the Indian towns : and this he did the 
more readily, as it was now in the afternoon, and the 
flood-tide almost spent. Of these two little Indian towns, 
the first was named Coaquanoc, standing on the up- 
per part of what is now Philadelphia : and the other 
stood a little higher up, about Kensington ; this last 
was called shackamaxon by the Indians. They both 
stood near the water : the Indian name of the Dela- 
ware was powTAXAT. Soon as the ship was anchored, 
the boat with an interpreter was sent on shore to in- 
form the Indians that the sachem or chief of the Whites 
wished to have a " grand talk with his Red brothers 
the next day^ when the sun was at the half-way house in 
the sky.^'' Soon as the natives saw the boat put off 
from the ship, they came down from both villages, men, 
women, and children, to meet them : and although 
from a total ignorance of each others' language, there 
was no conversation between them except a little by 
signs, and a word or two through the interpreter, yet 
the interview was highly interesting, each party mark- 
ing the colour, features, and dress of the other with all 
the pleasures of surprise. 

On the return of the boat, the interpreter reported 
to William Penn, that the Indian chiefs on hearing that 
he wished to have a grand talk with them, replied in 
their language, "z«e//, very well.^^ They added, also, 
that they had been told by their friends " the Rari- 
tons," (an Indian tribe then living below Burlington 
and Mount Holly,) that this sachem of the Whites was 
a good man, and that his white children which he had 
sent into their country in the big canoes, had never 
done them any harm." The interpreter also informed 
William Penn that the Indian chiefs had said that they 
would send their young men to their towns and let all 
their friends know, so that there might be d. good many 
at the talk. 



WILLIAM PENN. 145 

As to William Penn, he did not set foot on shore 
that night, but rather spent it in fervent prayer that 
God would, in his great mercy, now realize all those 
bright visions of love and happiness between the Red 
and White people, which he had so often and with 
such pleasure dwelt upon. Indeed it was a most se- 
rious night to William Penn. He felt how much was 
at stake. On the one hand, he himself had always 
most confidently maintained that, " the grace of God 
which bringeth salvation, appears to all men," i. e. that 
the moral sense is universal, and of sufficient efficacy 
to conciliate the affections even of heathens to stran- 
gers visiting them, provided those strangers in all their 
dealings, would be most scrupulously honest and kind to 
them : on the other hand the British king and ministry 
had equally ridiculed these opinions of his as utterly 
visionary, and had left him with a handful of his des- 
pised followers to make the rash and ruinous experi- 
ment. The awful hour for that experiment is at hand, 
and in a short time it is to be decided whether men 
are creatures capable of moral and religious control or 
not ; or in other words, whether when Christians have 
a mind to settle new discovered lands, they must, as 
heretofore, use all manner of villanous frauds and vio- 
lence, killing the inhabitants by fire-arms and gin ; or 
whether, by going among them, not with dumb bibles 
and crucifixes in their hands, but its blessed spirit of 
love in their hearts, and smiles in their looks, and jus- 
tice and kindness in their actions, they may not change 
thes^ poor heathens into dearest friends, and in this 
short and most honourable way to attain all the bless- 
ings of the safest and sweetest society in rich and new 
countries. 

N 



146 THE LIFE OF 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Speech of William Penn to the Indians. 

The Indians having been informed, as aforesaid, that 
the great Sachem, (or Chief) of the white men, want- 
ed to have a talk with their nation, assembled them- 
selves together to hear him. Their numbers must have 
been considerable ; for to the quakers, on shipboard, it 
appeared as though the woods were all alive with the 
Red men. And marching to and fro, as they did, in 
their mihtary dresses, armed with bows and arrows, 
and waving their warlike plumes of many a barbarous 
hue, they formed a fearful sight ; insomuch that some 
of the meek lamb-hke followers of William Penn, 
thought he was doing wrong to venture himself among 
those wild people. But the middle of the day, 
which was the time fixed on to meet them, being 
come, he got into the boat and went on shore with a 
countenance serene and pleasant as if he had been 
going to dine with his friends ; thus proving by his own 
ftiir example, what has often been observed even by 
heathen writers, that " a man of innocent life is afraid 
of nothing. The place where the red and white men 
met together, was on the western banks of the great 
river Delawere, on a fine green near the pleasant vil- 
lages of Shakamaxon and Coaquanoc, where Kensing- 
ton now stands. As if purposely formed to be the 
theatre of that memorable event, an elm-tree, of extra- 
ordinary size lifted high its towering top, and from its 
giant arms threw far and wide a refreshing shade over 
many a grassy acre. Seeing the Indians, men, women 
and children, assembled under this tree, William 
Penn, attended by only a few of his quakers, advanced 
towards them v/ith no other mark of rank but a sash 
of blue silk, whicli is sill) seen in the Penn families in 
England. The Indians were struck at his presence. 



WILLIAM PENN. 147 

A stranger advancing towards them, with no guard* 
around his person, no weapons of war in his hands, and 
no armour of defence but the majestic sweetness of 
his own looks, was a spectacle that impressed them all 
with veneration. With such sentiments in his favour, 
they readily obeyed his signal to sit down, which they 
did in the form of a half moon, the men, women and 
children of each tribe sitting round their own chiefs. 
Then, while all eyes were rivetted on him eagerly 
awaiting his speech, he stretched forth his hand, and 
with the engaging air and voice of a brother, thus ad- 
dressed them through an interpreter. 

" Brothers, listen ! Brothers we are come to bring 
good words to your ear ! We call you brothers, and 
so you are ; and we are your brothers too. Yes, the 
red men on this side the big water, and the white men 
on the other side, are all children of the Great Spi- 
RiT, and so must love one another, and never fall oui^ 
The Great Spirit says so. He says we have no need 
to fall out ; for he has made this world big — big enough 
for all, red and white brothers too. And he has made 
fish, and deer, and turkeys, and corn, and every thing 
plenty for all. And if at any time the red or white 
brothers want any thing that the others have, they 
must not fight to take it away. Oh no ; that will make 
the Great Spirit angry. Now your own eyes see our 
canoes yonder, (here he pointed to his ships) that they 
are bigger than your canoes ; and our bows and arrows 
too that they are stronger than your bows and arrows. 
They send out thunder and lightning; nothing can 
stand before them. We could easily kill you with our 
bows and arrows of fire, and take your land ; but the 
Great Spirit shakes his head and says no, you must not 
hurt your red brothers. You must not touch their 
land. Didn't I give this land to them and their chil- 
dren to hunt on '( And also the buflfaloes, and deer, and 
turkeys, and corn, and beans, and squashes? And 
havn't I given you good things too — great many good 



,48 THE LIFE OF 

things ? Well, then, give some to your red brothers, 
and they will give you land ; and so live together like 
brothers. Now, brothers, lift up your eyes I and see 
here the good things which the Great Spirit has given 
us to bring to you/' 

Here the English sailors, with their usual alacrity, 
opened out their ready bales of cloths, their true blucs^ 
and fiery crimsons^ and flaming reds, stretching them 
along in all their dazzling colours on the grass. And 
then as by magic, they unpacked their boxes of finely 
painted guns, with shining tomahawks, and axes, and 
hoes, and knives, and other articles of choice British 
goods, which they also spread out to the best advantage ; 
William Penn in the mean time explaining; their uses to- 
the hidians, who now no longer able to keep their seats 
on the ground were risen up, crowded around him with 
uncontrolled curiosity to look and wonder. But who 
can paint the pleasure-sparkling eyes and looks of 
these children of the forest, when with timid step they 
approached, and gazed, and touched those beautiful 
things before them, and heard their admirable uses — 
the guns of thunder and lightning, so much stronger 
than their bows and arrows, to conquer the bears and 
panthers ! the keen steel-edged axes so much better 
than their flint tomahawks to hew down the trees of 
the forest ! the fine woollen cloths so much softer and 
warmer than the rugged skins of the bear — and then 
all these good things brought to them by a mildly look- 
ing stranger who called them brothers, and said he 
had brought these good things from beyond the big 
water to give to them for some of their land. Then 
was seen the power which justice has to charm the 
souls of all men. Those savage faces, but now so cold 
and hard with hostile passions, were seen to glisten 
with admiration and friendship : while with broadest 
smiles, such as Indians are wont towards whom they 
love, they approached William Penn, and shaking his 
hands called him brother! good brother! They told 



WILLIAM PENN. 149 

him too that if he saw they had looked angry at first, it 
was because they had heard from their friends the Che- 
sapeakes, and Mussawomacs, and Susquehanocks, that 
the white men beyond them had killed the red men 
and had taken their land and deer. And also that their 
neighbours the Passaicks and Manhattans had told 
them how the white men with bows and arrows of 
FIRE, had killed many Indians there too. '■'• Bad white 
men /'' said they, shaking their heads — " bad white men 
to kill their red oroihers ! But you no bad white man ! 
Oh no ; you, good zohite man ! You all same as red man ! 
You op.e brother ! you bring red men good things ! 
We love you much ! We give you land^ and deer, and 
turkeys plenty ! You live with us, all brothers together^ 
long as the sun and moon give light.'''' 

Great was the joy of William Penn when he heard 
these words. They served to confirm his behef of 
that precious scripture truth, " The grace of God 
w'nich bringeth salvation hath appeared unto all men." 
Or, as thequakers are fond of terming it — " there is a 
light within," which teaches all men the difference 
between right and wrong ; and which, while it con- 
<lcm;is and troubles them for the one, fills them with joy 
for fl>llowijig the other. WiUiam Penn now saw with 
Itis own eyes, this truth most gloriously illustrated in 
those North American Indians. Judging from the un- 
ariincial vehemence of their tones, and their glowing 
looks and sparkling eyes, it were questionable whether 
any, the most civiHzed people on earth, could have 
expressed a higher admiration of justice than did these 
uneducated heathens. 

After a considerable pause, chiefly to indulge a me- 
lancholy pleasure in looking at this branch of the great 
family of Adam, and remarking their peculiarities, such 
as their bright copper complexions, their broad faces, 
tlieir high cheek bones, their long lank hair, black as 
the ravens' breast, and coarse as the mane of horses — 
and also their curiosity, which cspecitilly in the wo- 

N 2 



150 THE LIFE OF 

men, appeared to be as eager and unsatisfied as that 
of the veriest children ; William Penn proposed a going 
to business. This he did by desiring the interpreters 
to call up the sachems to him. The sachems all in- 
stantly gathered around him, and, on learning that he 
wanted to have a talk with them about buying land, 
they replied with great vehemence, '' Yes, brothers f — 
i/es ! — good! — very good /" 

One of the sachems then gave a kind of whoop, as 
a signal to order, after which he told them, in a very 
short speech, that their good brother, the great sachem 
of the white men, wanted to buy land. Soon as this 
string was touched on, the Indians, though very fond 
of the trade, began to look grave and assume an air 
of business ; and one of the sachems, with much of 
a natural majesty about him, bound something like a 
chaplet or cushion on his head, with a small horn pro- 
jecting from it. This, as we read in the Holy Scrip- 
tures, was used among the great eastern nations as an 
emblem of kingly powei-. And however curious it may 
seem, was so used among these Indians of North 
America ; for, soon as it was put on by the chief 
sachem, the rest all threw down their bows and arrows 
in token of respect, as also of perfect friendship, and 
seated themselves on the ground, in the form of a half- 
moon, each tribe around its own sachems. Tiie great 
sachem then announced to William Penn, that the na- 
tions were ready to hear him ; whereupon, with his 
usual look and voice, all serene and loving, he thus ad- 
dressed them. 

" Brothers, hsten ! brothers ! the red men and 
die white men, all children of the Great Spirit, are 
going to exchange land and good things with one ano- 
ther. Brothers, this makes the Great Spirit smile. 
He sees that this is doing as his good children ought 
to do. He sees that this will help to make them love 
one another very much, if they do it in true and good 
hearts. Brothers ! the Great Spirit sees our hearts 



WILLIAM PENN. 151 

whether they be good, like his children, or bad, like 
foxes and snakes. Brothers, since nothing that we 
get will ever do us any good, if the Great Spirit is an- 
gry with us, let us bring something to your ear about 
the Great Spirit. Brothers ! The Great Spirit is 
GOOD — MIGHTY GOOD. — Nobody Can tell one half how 
good he is. The red men know that he is good ; but the 
white men know it better still. Brothers, don't be 
angry Don't you see that the Great Spirit has taught 
us, your white brothers, to make canoes (meaning his 
ships) much better than your canoes ; and bows and 
arrows (meaning his guns) much better than your 
bows and arrows ? Well, then, the Great Spirit has 
given us better talks too. Brothers, listen ! Bro- 
thers ! the Great Spirit has had much talk with 
your white brothers. He has told them in many talks, 
that it was he who made the sun, and the moon, and the 
stars — that it was he who made the skies, and the great 
waters, and the land, with all the trees and grass, and 
all the fishes, and birds, and beasts ; and made the red 
men and the white men, and gave all to them as his 
own children, that they might live together as brothers, 
and do good to one another, as he does good to them. 
He says, too, that we must not be straitened and nar- 
row in our doing good to one another, for that he is 
great enough and rich enough for all. And that, if 
we will but let his words sink deep in our hearts, he 
will speak to the ground, and to the clouds, and to the 
skies, and they shall pour down good things on good 
things upon us, till there be no more room to hold 
them. He says, " can you count the sands on the 
shores ; can you count the leaves on the trees, and the 
stars in the skies ? then you may count how many are 
the good things which he will give to us. But he says, 
too, that, if we throw his words behind our backs, and 
tell lies, and cheat, and fight one another, he will turn 
all his good things into bad things against us, and so 
fill up our lives with trouble, — The spring may come ; 



159 THE LIFE OF 

but no flower shall shine on the ground, no bird sing 
in the trees ; for the sky shall be cold and black like 
winter. The ground under our feet shall be like stone ; 
and the clouds shall hold back their rain, so that the 
beans shall be few on their vines, and the ears of corn 
shrivelled on their stalks. The grass, too, shall wither 
in the vallies, and the acorns shall fail ; so that though 
we hunt all day, we shall catch no game, and few fish 
shall come to our hook. And as we delighted to kill 
others, so the Great Spirit will suifer others, to kill us, 
yea, after that they have killed our sons in our pre- 
sence, and tomahawked our little ones before our eyes. 
Now, BROTHERS, lisleu ! These are the good talks 
which the Great Spirit gave to our fathers on t'other 
side of the big water. We bring these good talks to 
you. We love these good talks ourseiv^es. We are 
not like those white men who came with the big canoes 
and bows and arrows of fir t^ and killed the Chesa- 
peakes and Mussamomecs, and Susquehanocks ; nor 
are we of the white men who killed the Passaicks and 
Manhattans ; but we are of the white men who love 
the good talks of the Great Spirit to our fathers. And 
we have made a covenant with the Great Spirit, that 
we will never lie, nor cheat, nor fight, nor kill any of 
his children, whether red men or white men : but will 
love them all as our brothers, and will do them good 
out of the good things which he has given us for them. 
Now, that you may know that the words which v\'c 
bring to your ear are true words, look and see that we 
have brought no canoes of the big bows and arrows of 
thunders and hghtnings to kill you ; but have brought 
nothing but our good, things which the Great Spirit 
gave us to bring and give to you for land. And now, 
BROTHERS, if it scem good to you to give us land that 
we may live with you as brothers, tell us ; and if not, tell 
us, that we may turn to the right hand or to the left." 
William Peon tlien sat down, still deeply gazed on 
by the Indians, v/hoze eagerly projecting eyes and shin- 



WILLIAM PENN I53 

ing looks strongly showed how deeply they felt and 
approved all tliat he said. And no wonder; for justice 
is that godlike charm which no eye of man can look 
on without being enamoured thereof. This was the 
enchantment practised by WiUiam Penn. He was no 
stupid missionary, telling by rote his dull tale of the 
apple ; nor was he the bigoted priest holding up his 
idol crucifix and threatening damnation to the unin- 
structed savages if they fell not down and worshipped 
it. But he was the true Christian missionary indeed^ 
who set out, like St. Paul, with first preaching up " righ- 
teousness^''^ and preaching it up too in that '^'^ spirit 
which giveth life,'''' even the spirit of love made visible 
in its precious fruits of justice to these poor heathens, 
with whom he began by acknowledging them to be 
the rightful owners of the soil, and to whom he ap- 
plied for a portion of it, bringing them at the same 
time in his hands, the best necessaries of life in ex> 
change. For on William Penn's sitting down, after 
this famous speech to the Indians, the sachem, with 
the crown and horn on his head, got up, and with the 
looks of one strongly excited, thus replied — " bro- 
ther ! your words are fire. We feel them burning in 
our hearts. Brother ! we believe that the Great 
Spirit is good. Our mothers always told us so. And 
we see it with our own eyes. This big water, which 
runs along by this Shackamaxon and Coaquanoc, with 
all the fish, speaks that the Great Spirit is good. This 
ground which grows so much corn and beans and to- 
bacco for us, speaks that the Great Spirit is good. 
These woods that shelter so many deer and turkeys 
for us, speak that the Great Spirit is good. The Great 
Spirit would not have done all this for us if he had 
not been good, and loved us very much. Brother, 
we ought to be like the Great Spirit. We ought to 
love one another as he loves us. But brother ! the 
red men here have not done so. The red men do 



154 THE LIFE OP 

very bad. They sometimes fight and kill one another. 
The Great Spirit has been very angry with us for it, 
and has taken away our corn and deer ; and then we 
have become poor and weak, and have fallen sick and 
died, so that our wigwams (cabins,) are empty. But 
now we are very sorry and ashamed and will do so no 
more. And now, brothers, we are ready to sell you 
land that you may live with us like good brothers, 
never to fight us as we red men have done, but always 
to love and do good to one another. And then the 
Great Spirit will make his face to shine upon us as 
his good children, and will always give us plenty of 
deer, and corn, and beans, so that we may eat and 
grow strong again !" 

Soon as this speech was ended, the Sachems all ga- 
thered around William Penn, and the few friends he 
had with him, cordially shaking hands all around, say- 
ing to them at the same time, " brothers, the Great 
Spirit sees our hearts, that they are not like foxes and 
SNAKES, but hke brothers ; good brothers.'''' After this 
they gave the calumet or pipe of lighted tobacco, 
which was smoked out of by all ; the great Sachem 
first taking a whiff, then William Penn, and then the 
Sachems and warriors and squaws of every tribe. 
This is used among the Indians as a most sacred pledge 
of friendship which, according to their strong language, 
should endure long as the sun and moon gave light. 
They then proceeded to their great business of dealing 
for land and goods. How much time was spent in 
making this famous bargain, I have never been able to 
ascertain, but the result was as follows — 

1st. The Indians agreed to give the great Sachem 
of the white men (Wilham Penn,) all the land, bind- 
ing on the great river from the mouth of Duck creek 
to what is now called Bristol, and from the river to- 
wards the setting sun, as far as a man could ride in two 
days on a horse. 



WILLIAM PENN. I55 

2nd. William Penn agreed, in return, to give the 
Indians as follows: 

(The probable prices now.) 

20 Guns, $140 00 

20 Fathoms match-coat, 20 00 

20 Do. stroud-water, 30 00 

20 Blankets, 25 00 

20 Kettles, 20 00 

20 Pounds of powder, 10 00 

100 Bars of lead, 25 00 

40 Tomahawks, 30 00 

100 Knives, 25 00 

40 Pair of stockings, 25 00 

1 Barrel of beer, 4 00 

20 Pounds of red lead, 5 00 

100 Fathoms of wampum 50 00 

30 Glass bottles, 2 50 

30 Pewter spoons, 2 50 

100 Awl blades, 25 

300 Tobacco pipes, 1 00 

1 00 Hands of tobacco, 1 2 00 

20 Tobacco tongs, 5 00 

20 Steels, 2 50 

300 Flints, 2 00 

30 Pair of scissors, 6 00 

30 Combs, 8 00 

60 Looking-glasses, 15 00 

200 Needles, 25 

1 Skipple of salt, 10 00 

30 Pounds of sugar, 3 75 

5 Gallons of molasses, 2 00 

20 Tobacco boxes, 2 50 

?00 Jews' harps, 6 25 

20 Hoes, 10 00 

30 Gimblets, 2 00 

30 Wooden screw boxes, 7 50 



156 THE LIFE OF 

Amount brought over. $ 515 00 

100 Strings of beads, 50 



Total $515 50 

Soon as the bargain was concluded and also ratified, 
as is the manner of the Indians in great treaties, by a 
second smoking of the calumet all around, William 
Penn ordered the stipulated price in British merchan- 
dize, as the blankets, hatchets, axes, &;c. &;c. to be all 
openly counted out to the Sachems and nicely put up 
for them, which was accordingly done. But so strong 
was the pulse of gratitude and esteem in the bosoms 
of these poor heathens towards William Penn, because 
of this his act of justice towards them, that it appeared 
as though they could not leave him until they had 
again shaken hands with him all round, with marks 
of an immortal affection, calling him father " Onas," 
which in their language signifies quill, and being the 
nearest word to Penn, and at the same time assuring 
him in their earnest and vehement manner, that they 
would be ''' good friends with him and his white children 
long as the sun and moon gave lights After this they 
took up their goods and went away. But not until 
William Penn aifectionately shaking hands with the 
chiefs had bade them " remember that although he had 
bought their lands of them, yet they must still use them 
as their own ; and fish and hunt and make corn for 
their children as before : and also that if they had any 
of these good things to spare, they must bring them to 
him and he would pay them for them." In a transac- 
tion so honourable to human nature as this, every thing 
seems important ; and it would be highly gratifying at 
this day, to know the number of Indians that were as- 
sembled on that memorable occasion. But although 
we shall never be able to ascertain this, yet it is a gratifi- 
cation that we know something of the history of the 
famous elm under which Penn's treaty with the In- 



WILLIAM PENN. I57 

dians was made. From its unusual size it must have 
been at least one hundred years at that time, which was 
in 1682 ; in the American war, which was about one 
hundred years later, it was still standing, and so justly 
venerable on account of the glorious scene it had wit- 
nessed, that the British, then in possession of Philadel- 
phia, although near freezing of cold, and the fancy-trees 
and fruit-trees all abandoned to the axe, they placed a 
sentinel under this tree so that not a twig of it should 
be hurt. In the year 1811 it was blown down : but 
still revered like the oak that sheltered the great Wil- 
ham Wallace, it was piously wrought into little boxes 
and cups by the curious, to be sent as presents to 
friends, or laid up in their own cabinets to keep alive 
the memory of what that tree had seen. 

Having in his own honest and peaceable way ob- 
tained of the poor natives a title to that fine province 
which had so long dwelt on his mind, he then, with 
great joy and thankfulness of heart, set about having 
it surveyed. While the survey of the province was 
going on, he diligently looked about for a good site for 
his intended city. He was not long in the search. 
The elegant country round Shackamaxon and Coa- 
quanoc soon arrested his delighted attention : a grand 
extended surface, level as a die — full twenty feet ele- 
vation above the water — bounded on the east by the 
mile wide Delaware — on the west by the narrow but 
deep-flooded Schuylkill — and on the south, six miles 
below Coaquanoc, by the junction of the two rivers — 
above the surface, a noble forest of oak, poplar and 
pine, for building — beneath, an inexhaustible bed of 
choice brick clay — and in the neighbourhood, millions 
of stone laid up in ready quarries. If king Solomon had 
been in quest of a site for a royal city for his peerless 
Dride, the daughter of Pharaoh, where could he have 
tbund such a spot, and such abundant materials, as the 
hand of Heaven had here laid up to forward the good 
work which his servant William Penn was engaged iu ? 
O 



158 THE LIFE 01* 

Without loss of time he then sketched off a plart 
for his new citj, which for beauty and convenience, 
for regularity of prospect and pure ventilation, is so 
far superior to any other city that we have ever seen 
or read of, as to incline us to believe that the hand 
of the GREAT ARCHITECT was with him here also. 
His first street was to lay on the Delaware, and his 
second on the Schuylkill, both to run nearly north 
and south one mile., straight as a mathematical line ; 
and from fronting these two rivers, to be called Front 
streets — each sixty feet wide ! His third street, to be 
called High-street, full one hundred feet wide, was ex- 
actly to intersect his city by running due east and west 
from the middle of Delaware Front-street., two miles 
over, to the middle of Schuylkill Front-street. Then., 
exactly half way between the two rivers, his fourth 
street, one hundred and thirteen feet wide, to be called 
BROAD-street, was to run due north and south crossing 
High-street, as aforesaid, in the centre of the city. In 
this centre point he laid off ten acres for a grand park 
or square to be handsomely railed in, smoothly sodded 
with grass, and planted with trees of finest shade, that 
the citizens, often as they pleased, might here meet 
and mingle with one another, and although in the 
midst of the crowded city, enjoy an air and verdure 
and shade equal to the country. For the same plea- 
sant and beneficial uses, he ordered a park or square 
of eight acres to be laid off in the centre of each quar- 
ter of his city. To complete the streets of his city, 
which, as we have seen, was to be two miles in length, 
from river to river., or east and west, and in width, from 
north to south one mile, making a surface of upwards 
of twelve hundred acres, he ordered eight streets to 
be run parallel with High or Market-street, i. e. east 
and west; and twenty streets parallel with Broad- 
street, i. e. north and south ; each of these streets wai 
to he. fifty {ee,t wide, except Mulberry, which is sixty- 
six feet wide. The streets running north and south 



WILLIAM PENN. I59 

were to be named according to their numerical order, 
asjirst, second, third street, &;c. and those running from 
east to west after the woods of the country, as Vine- 
street, Sassafras-street, Cedar-street, and so on. The 
city having been thus planned, was called Philadel- 
phia, which, in Greek, signifies the city of brother- 
ly LOVE, that being, as he said, " the spirit in which he 
had come to these parts / the spirit which he had sworn 
to Dutch, Swedes, Indians, all alike ; and the spirit 
which he earnestly prayed God would for ever rule in 
his provirice.''"' 

No sooner was the city surveyed and laid off ac- 
cording to this plan, which gave universal joy to the 
little colony, than the sound of innumerable axes was 
heard in the woods, with the frequent crash of the 
falling trees. And so ardent was the passion for build- 
ing, that, late as the season was, (September,) many 
families had comfortable houses erected before winter. 
In addition to these, several who came out in the fall 
ships, being fuller handed, brought with them houses 
in frame, all marked and ready for putting together ; 
with furniture of all sorts, and clothes, and provisions; 
these, of course, went on swimmingly. But a great many 
coming in late, and being poor withal, had to work day 
and night to cover in their huts, and provide a good 
stock of wood for fires, before the deep snows should 
fall : while others, still worse off, were fain to go down 
to the shores of the Delaware, and there in the sides 
of the steep banks, dig large grottoes or caves with 
chimnies at the tops for the smoke. These places for 
a long time afterwards went by the name of the caves ; 
and homely as they may appear, yet many families, 
whose posterity have since* made much noise in Penn- 
sylvania, passed the winter of 1G82, in those caves, miid 
in a very snug and healthy style too. Indeed, whether 
it be that in those times of virtuous necessity, there is 
generally the presence of him who " tempers the air to 
the shorn lamb,''' or whether that, having created man 



160 THE LIFE OF 

to imitate himself in active, useful life, Heaven a ways 
gives better appetite, sleep, and health to the steadily 
laborious ; but certain it is, that no adventurers, per- 
haps, in such numbers, ever enjoyed better health and 
spirits than did the followers of William Penn, that 
season. For while of thf^ little colony, only one hun- 
dred and twenty in number, who settled, or rather in- 
vaded Virginia, in May, 1607, full one half of them 
were in their graves before Christmas : of William 
Penn's colony, though exceedingly more numerous, 
there is no record, that I have seen, of one single case 
of mortality that season. But after all, the health of 
this colony, though remarkable, is not so much to be 
wondered at. " Cheerfulness," says Solomon, " does 
good like a medicine ;" and who ever had greater rea- 
son for cheerfulness than the followers of William Penn? 
The cause for which, like faithful Abraham of old, they 
iiad left father, mother, and country, i. e. for God and 
religion's sake, was not that enough to make them 
cheerful ? The loving spirit in which they had treated 
the poor natives, was not that enough to make them 
cheerful ? The attainment, without blood and murder, 
of the object of their perilous journeyings through the 
watery wilderness, viz. an earthly Canaan of their 
own, flowing with the milk and honey of peace and 
quiet, was not that enough to make them cheerful ? 
The hand of Heaven, so visible in all this, was surely 
enough to make them cheerful And, to perpetuate 
their cheerfulness, the same blessed hand was still 
visibly present with them ; for, like quails upon the 
camps of Israel, so did delicious flesh seem to rain 
down from Heaven upon them in their time of need. 
Wafted on by the winds of autumn, the wild pigeons 
from the Indian lakes, came down upon them in such 
darkening clouds as overwhelmed them with astonish- 
ment : those who had powder and small shot could kiW 
thousands a day ; while, as if for the sake of the poor 
who had not such advantages, these savoury birds flevv 



William jpenn. igi 

so low, or fed on their berry bushes so utterly careless 
of man, that they might be knocked down in any quan- 
tities that were wanted, insomuch, that besides feeding 
on them fresh, they salted barrels of them up for fu- 
ture use. As to deer, bulFaloe, bear, raccoons, opos- 
sums, squirrels, rabbits, turkeys, pheasants, partridges, 
&c. the lands which William Penn bought of the In- 
dians so abounded with all these varieties of dehcious 
game, that any man who chose to go after them with 
his gun, might presently return loaded ; while such as 
could not hunt, might have them brought to their 
doors for a mere trifle — turkeys of twenty pounds 
weight for one shilling ! and fat kidney-covered bucks 
for two shillings ! which was not indeed a fair price 
for the skin. And all this done for them by those whom 
the Christians call Savages^ who appeared to have 
such a true child-like love for father " Onas" as they 
called William Penn, that they could never, as they 
said, do enough for his poor children. And indeed so 
strong was this generous feeling in their bosoms that 
if they saw any of " Onuses children'''' so poor that they 
could not buy at the low rates above, they would, of 
their own accord, go and hunt for them, and bring 
them loads of the finest and fattest flesh, and fish, and 
fowl, for nothing. And, as if there was to be no end to 
the bounties of God, and to the thankfulness and joy of 
William Penn and his people, the waters in this new 
country were no less abundantly stored with dainty 
food than the air and the land : swans, geese, brant, 
and ducks of all sorts were here seen in flocks as no 
European ever had any idea of; while as to the fish, 
such as sturgeon, shad, rock, perch, &:c. the rivers and 
creeks were so full of them, that with the least indus- 
try in the world, a man might feast his family on them 
every day. And in addition to all this, the Indians had 
exquisite peaches in surprising abundance ; and the 
woods were, in numberless places, matted as it were 
with vines, which in the fall season of the year were 
o 2 



162 THE LIFE OP 

perfectly black with shining clusters of grapes ; not 
indeed so large as those of Europe, but remarkably 
plump and sweet tasted, especially after a little touch 
of the frost. Now with such ample cause of ceaseless 
gratitude and cheerfulness, who can wonder that Wil- 
liam Penn and his humble followers were always so 
healthy and happy as they appear to have been ? Wil- 
liam Penn in a letter to one of his friends in England, 
says, " I thank my good God that I have not missed one 
meaVs meat, nor one nighfs sleep since I came into 
this fair province. O / how sweet is the quiet of these 
parts, freed from the anxious and troublesome solicita- 
tions, hurries, and perplexities of woeful Europe /" But 
leaving the settlers in the new city, driving on might 
and main as aforesaid, with their buildings, and like 
sagacious ants laying up the best store they could for the 
approaching winter, William Penn took his surveyor 
with him, and went into the country to finish the sur- 
vey of his grand purchase of the Indians, and also the 
little district then called the " territories,'' now the 
State of Delaware, which had been ceded to him 
by the Duke of York ; and to divide them into coun- 
ties. Three counties were created out of each of these 
districts, those of his province were named as follow : 
PHILADELPHIA, after his new city : bucks, or bucking- 
ham, after a county in England, dear to him as the 
long residence of his ancestors : — and Chester, which 
he so named to pleasure his old travelling companion 
Thomas Pearson, who was born in a county of that 
name in England. His three counties in the territo- 
ries he named Newcastle, kent, and Sussex : this 
last out of respect to his wife, whose family for many 
^generations had resided in a county of that name in 
England. At the sitting of the Assembly, which took 
place in March ensuing, (1683) he procured a seal to 
be struck for each of the above counties. That for 
PHILADELPHIA, was an anchor, — to bucks, a tree 
atvd vine, — to Chester, a plough, — to Newcastle, a 



WILLIAM PENN. 163 

cassia, — to rent, three ears of Indian corn, — and to 
SUSSEX, a wheat sheaf. Each of these seals, no doubt, 
had a meaning, and particularly that of Philadelphia, 
which very fitly denoted his long twenty years' servi- 
tude of hope and toil for this blessed land of religious 
liberty, and city of brotherly love. 

Having thus divided his land into counties, as just 
mentioned, William Penn immediately appointed she- 
riffs in each county, and issued writs for the election 
of members both for the Council and general Assembly, 
as also summons for the formation of Grand Juries ! 
J^ow that all this was not a mere matter of pride and 
affectation in him, (which none on earth ever more 
heartily abhorred) but a course of proceeding to which 
he was compelled by existing facts, the reader may 
rest perfectly assured that so entire was the confidence 
of the people of England in the wisdom and honesty 
of William Penn, and the probable great advantages 
which they should derive from settling in his province, 
that although he did not himself arrive in it till the 
beginning of September, yet so great was the emigra- 
tion, and the number of those who had purchased 
grounds, and settled in the counties by the middle of 
November, that he found a sufficient population in 
each of them to require wise laws, and a prompt and 
just administration of them. Weight of individual 
character has rarely had such flattering respect paid 
to it. Nearly three thousand souls, by reasonable 
computation, to follow a persecuted quaker across a 
vast ocean to a wilderness, in three months ! 'tis won- 
derful ! 

Who can tell the joy that reddened over the cheeks 
of this true friend of man, when on his return from 
the country, which was in November, he beheld the 
bright prospects that were opening before him — his 
new city, of upwards of fifty houses, risen as by magic 
out of the woods, and thereby promising, what has 
really happened, the speedy creation of a mighty me- 



164 THE LIFE OF 

tropolis — and in addition to this, to see his noble, sil- 
rer-flooded Delaware already beginning to whiten with 
the sails of ships ; twenty-three of which came in about 
this time almost in squadron, from different ports in 
England and Ireland, and even from Wales, making 
in all upwards of two thousand souls, who had bravely 
left their country and friends to cross a howling wil- 
derness of waves, and cast in their lot with William 
Penn for their sweet peace and conscience sake. 

And great also was the joy of the colony when,they 
saw that these ships, though tall, carried none of the 
dread implements of death, nor of those men whose 
fierce looks and fiery regimentals proclaim that their 
trade is human slaughter ; but, on the contrary, were 
filled with men and women whose dove-like clothiiig 
bespoke them the children of peace, perhaps, humble 
and industrious farmers and mechanics, who were 
come into the wilderness to build up a Zoar, a city for 
God, and to aid the great and good cause by their use- 
ful labours. The scene that ensued was tender and in- 
teresting. Nothing was to be seen or heard on all 
sides but the noise of the citizens running down to the 
shore to meet and welcome the stranger friends^ also 
with looks and eyes of friendship eagerly searching 
round if happily they might find some beloved kinsman 
in this noisy throng. And ofttimes the heart was 
touched at the sight of dearest relatives rushing to all 
the transporting embraces of an unexpected meeting; 
bathing each other's red swollen cheeks of joy with 
gushing tears, and with sobs and cries rending the air, 
" O my brothel' /" or, " O my dear mother^'*'' or " my dear 
child!'''' These persons had taken leave in England of 
their relatives ; the first adventurers^ never expecting 
to see them more. — But finding a void in their bleed- 
ing hearts, which nothing else could fill, they had sud- 
denly sold ofi' all and ventured across the seas, that 
they might, as they said, " live and die together.'''' Wil- 
liam Penn was much affected by these things, which 



WILLIAM PENN. 165 

served to strengthen him the more, if possible, in his 
resolutions to leave nothing undone to ensure the wel- 
fare of so many poor people who had confided their 
all to him. And it is highly pleasing to record that 
what with the very unusual length of the mild and 
open weather that season, and the most hearty hospi- 
tality and great simplicity and industry prevalent 
throughout this group of Christian friends, such good 
preparation was made, both of huts and provisions, 
that there was no instance of serious distress and suf- 
fering ever heard among them. It is worthy of remark, 
that nearly the whole of the late arrival of two thou- 
sand persons, were Quakers, who had followed Wil- 
ham Penn, that, as appeared in a London paper of 
those times, " they might lead a life quiet and peaceable, 
free from the vexatious they had experienced ; arid wor- 
shipping the Creator in their own way ^ and that here, as 
on a virgin elysian shore, they might shun the odious and 
infectious examples of European profligacy and wicked- 
ness ; and lastly, that by manifesting, in all their tem- 
pers and actions, a fair example of the humble and 
loving spirit of the gospel, they might more effectually 
impress the heathen around them, and thus bring them 
from darkness to light — even that pure and perfect light 
which emanated from Jesus Christ,'*'' 

When plain simple Christians can go abroad to win 
ihe Heathens to Christ by his sweet charm of " love 
und good works,'''' exemplified in their own divine tem- 
pers and actions, we may well expect a good turn out. 
but when missionaries, calling themselves Christians, 
x:an travel to the other side of the globe to make 
proselytes to their own party, and there, in the sight 
of the Heathen, wrangle and abuse each other about 
baptisms and sacraments, and free grace or election, 
surely it is time for all good men to pray that God 
would have mercy upon such " blind leaders of tht 
blind,'''' and send fitter " labourers in into his own vine^ 
yards C 



166 THE LIFE OF 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Snug m their huts and caves, and well supplied, as 
we have seen, with food timely laid up, William Penn 
and his gentle followers passed the winter in much 
comfort, often amusing themselves with an atmosphere 
darkened with heavier snows, and the Indian forests 
howling with far louder tempests than they had ever 
witnessed in England. In the course of the season, 
perhaps in January, there occurred an event which, 
though trivial in itself, served for a while to be talked 
of in this infant city, I mean the Jirst birth, of English 
parents, in the colony. The child was a boy, of the 
family of Key, born in one of the caves. William Penn 
took a fancy to record this event by making the child 
a present of a lot of ground. The neighbours from 
that day gave young Key the name of First-born, which 
he went by all his life, and that a very long one. 

On the 10th of March, 1683, William Penn met his 
Jlrst Council, in Philadelphia ; two days afterwards 
he met his Jirst Assemble/, which sat at the same 
place. 

As a certain very unpromising youngster of Virginia, 
on reading in a history of the revolution that his 
grand-father was a favourite officer with general Wash- 
ington, instantly took up, determining to render himself 
worthy of such a noble ancestor; so I will let the 
young people of Pennsylvania and Delaware see the 
names of their great-grandfathers, who had the ho- 
nour to sit under William Penn in the Jirst Assembly, 
in the year 1683 — also on the first grand jury of that 
venerable period. For the assembly, as follow — Yard- 
ley, Darke, Lucas, Wain, Wood, Clowes, Witzwater, 
Hall, and Boyden, for Bucks ; Longhurst, Hart, King, 
Binkson, Moon, Wynne, Jones, Warner, and Swanson, 
for Philadelphia; Hoskins, Wade, Wood, Blunston, 
Rochford, Bracy, Bezer, Harding, and Phipps, for Ches- 



WILLIAM PENN. 187 

ter; Biggs, Irons, Hassold, Curtis, Bedwell, Windsmore, 
Brinkloe, Brown, and Bishop, for Kent ; Cann, Darby, 
Hollingsworth, Herman, Dehoaef, Williams, Guest, 
and Alrick, for New Castle ; Watson, Draper, Flutch- 
er. Bowman, Moleston, Hill, Bracy, Kipshaven, and 
Verhoof, for Sussex. 

For the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania, in 1683. 
Lloyd, (foreman,) Flower, Wood, Harding, Hill, Luff, 
Wall, Darke, Parsons, Blunston, Fitzwater, Guest, 
Curtis, Lucas, Jones, and Pusey. 

As to what this famous assembly did — I call it fa- 
mous, because it was the first that ever sat in the glo- 
rious colony of William Penn — I say as to what they 
did, such as what wise laws they passed ; who was 
their chairman ; who their great orator, and so forth, 
they are now all effaced from the memory of man, as 
though such an assembly had never existed. This most 
mortifying fact, however overlooked by others, ought 
certainly to stick awhile on the memory of those am- 
bitious little ones, now-a-days, who vainly dream that 
if they can but muster enough of whiskey-bought votes 
to send them to " the legislature," the world is to 
ring of them a thousand years hence. 

But concerning the exploits of the first Grand Jury 
of Pennsylvania, we are not so completely in the dark. 
It appears that, early as good William Penn began to 
draw his net for villains, he did not draw it without 
catching a miserably bad fish. A very hardened 
wretch by the name of Pickering, a silver-smith of 
London, finding what ship-loads of quakers had gone 
off to ^Pennsylvania, took it into his head that a capital 
speculation might be made on these easy unsuspicious 
people, by palming upon them a barrel or two of coun- 
terfeit Spanish milled dollars, and thus handsomely, as 
he hoped, to strip them of what little property they 
had saved from the paws of the British monarchy and 
liierarchy. The better to ensure success, he gets him- 
self a deep drab and broad beaver, and off he sets for 



168 THE LIFE OF 

Penn's colony, and there in the guise of a very pious 
friend, begins his villanous trade. His money passes 
without the least suspicion : for who would think of sus- 
pecting FRIEND Pickering ! Success inspires confi- 
dence ; confidence makes him forget caution ; his money 
is questioned, and he is arrested w^ith thousands of it 
upon him. Now, in England, such a villain as that would, 
in five minutes, have been in a dungeon pinioned with 
irons, and soon as possible, have been dangling in a 
halter without beuefit of clergy. But what was the. 
award of the first Grand Jury of Pennsylvania in 
1683 ? Why, it ran in these words : " Whereas 
Thomas Pickering hath been found guilty of coining 
and stamping silver in the form of Spanish dollars with 
more alloy of copper than the law allows, he the said 
Thomas Pickering shall, for this high misdemeanor, make 
full satisfaction in good and current pay, to all persons 
who shall, within the space of one month, bring in any 
of his base and counterfeit coin, (which shall be called 
in to-morrow by proclamation ;) and that he shall pay 
a fine of forty pounds towards the building of a court- 
house, stand committed till the same is paid, and after-^ 
wards find security for his good behaviour.'''' 

Having undergone an incessant fatigue of mind for a 
long time past, and especially during the late session 
of his Assembly, and Common Council, and Grand 
Jury, of which he was the prime mover and conductor, 
WilHam Penn determined, for a necessary relaxation, 
to make an excursion into the country, and taking a 
few friends with him, now when the opening spring 
with all its sweet birds and blossoms were inviting ta 
industry, to indulge the pleasure of a general view of 
his beloved province. But to a mind like that of Wil 
liam Penn, happily moulded into the spirit of divine 
love, and, like that, always seeking opportunities of 
doing good, relaxation only means a change in the 
great business of being useful. During this grand tour 
if we may so call it, he made numberless minutes of 



WILLIAM PENN. 169 

every thing that he could see or hear that he thought 
would entertain or benefit, and which may be looked 
on as a panorama in miniature^ or rapid sketch of the 
geography, botany, natural history, &:c, of the country 
and its aboriginal inhabitants, or Indians. 1 should like 
to give it at length to my readers, were it not for fear 
that from the lusty growth which our country has made 
in these sciences during the long lapse of one hundred 
and fifty active years, it would only excite a smile as 
at sight of a dwarf by the side of a giant. But there 
is one thing in this little journal which always atFords 
so much pleasure to myself, that I can, certainly, ne- 
ver withhold it from my readers, i. e. his tender sketches 
of the poor simple natives of the country. Aye^ there 
William Penn was always at home. This v/as his first 
and favourite theme, to be continually looking into 
the moral condition (because all happiness lies there) 
of his brother man; not indeed so much to scrutinize 
his notions and shiboleths ; or to ascertain how far or- 
thodox and strict he was in his sectarian faiths, and 
catechisms, and creeds, and confirmations, and bap- 
tisms, and sacraments, and sprinklings of holy water, and 
signings with crosses, and other such things ; because 
from faithful history of popes, and cardinals, and bi- 
shops, and presbyters, William Penn had learned that 
the utmost formalities in those things are perfectly 
consistent with the vilest spirit and passions of the 
world — with the most satanic pride and lust of univer- 
sal domination — with mortal envies and hatreds of all 
opponents — with kindlings of bloody wars and cru- 
sades among the nations, and most unnatural inquisi- 
tions and burnings of their brethren^-with multiplying 
of great titles, and palaces, and revenues of the esta- 
blished churches, and imprisonments, and confiscations, 
and poverty, and starving of the rest ! ! ! WilHam Penn, 
therefore, in his loving regards to the moral condition 
of his brother man, paid no rcopecl to those things ; 
but much rather to the plain evidences of that " grace 
P 



170 THE LIFE OF 

which bringeth salvation," and which always mani 
festeth itself in acts of ^'•justice, and hospitality^ and 
kindness, and brotherly love, without dissembling.'''' 



CHAPTER XX. 

JJ^lliam Penn'^s Narrative of the Aborigines, or native 
Indians, whom he found in Pennsylvania, touching 
their persons, language, manners, religion, and go- 
vernment. 

" 1st. For their persons ; they are generally tall, 
straight, well built, and of singular proportion. They 
tread strong and clever, and mostly walk with a lofty 
chin. Greasing themselves with bears' fat, and using 
no defence against the sun, their skins must needs be 
swarthy. Their eyes are small and black, not unlike 
a straight-eyed Jew. The thick lips and flat noses of 
tlie East Tndians and blacks, are not common to them ; 
for I have seen as comely European faces among them 
as in England ; and truly an Italian complexion has 
not much more of the white, and the noses of many 
of them have as much of the Roman. 

2d. For their language, it is lofty yet narrow, but, 
like the Hebrew, in signitication full. Like short -hand 
in writing, one word serves in place of several, and the 
rest are supplied by the understanding of the hearer. 
And I must say that I know not a language in Europe 
that has words of more sweetness or grandeur. 

3d. As to their customs and manners, these in some 
things, as very curious, especially as regards their 
diildren. Soon as these are born they plunge them 
into cold water, the colder the better, to make them 
hardy and bold as young otters. Then, having wrapt 
them up in skins, they brace them out straight on a 



WILLIAM PENN. 171 

little board, and thus, when travelling, carry them on 
their backs, or if at work, set them up nearly erect 
against the sides of their cabins. Hence the Indians 
are all remarkably straight. The boys while young, 
practise a great deal with their bows and arrows, at 
which they come to be so expert that a sparrow must 
be lucky that escapes them. At fifteen they take to 
the woods, eager to figure as men. If they make a 
brave return of skins, they begin to take airs and talk 
about wives ; otherwise they are very silent. The girls 
stay with their mothers and help them to plant and 
hoe the corn, and carry burthens. 'Tis happy that 
they are timely used to this ; for, when wives, they are 
expected to do all the drudgery. The husband, if he 
hunts and kills the buck, thinks he has done his share. 
He comes home, sits down and lights his pipe ; leaving 
it to his wife and daughters to bring in the buck. Their 
sagacity at finding it seems like a miracle. The hus- 
band has but to say a word or two and fling his arm in 
the direction where it lies, and they go off as straight 
to it, no matter how thick the swamps and woods, as a 
buzzard to a carcass. 

We Christians call these poor people savages, but 
indeed, in many of the most Christian virtues, they 
leave us far behind them. If a white man call at their 
cabins, they are all joy and gladness to see him. They 
give him the best place and the first cut. If they come 
to visit us, and any thing is given them to eat or drink, 
well, for they will not ask ; and be it little or much if 
it be with kindness^ they are well pleased ; otherwise 
they go away sullen, but saying nothing. 

But in liberality they excel. Nothing is too good for 
their friend. Give them a fine gun, coat, or other 
thing, it may pass twenty hands before it sticks : light 
of heart, strong affections, but soon spent : the most 
merry creatures that live. They never have much 
nor want much. Wealth circulates like the blood. All 
,parts partake : and though none shall want what the 



172 THE LIFE OF 

others have, yet exact observers of property. Some of 
their kings have sold, others presented me with par- 
cels of land. The pay or presents I made them were 
not hoarded by the particular owners, but the neigh- 
bouring kings and their clans being present when the 
goods were brought out, the parties chiefly concerned 
consulted what and to whom they should give them. 
To every king then, by the hands of a person for that 
work appointed, is a proportion sent, so sorted, and 
folded, and with that gravity which is admirable. Then 
the king subdivideth it in like manner among his de 
pendants, hardly leaving himself an equal share with 
one of his subjects : and be it on such occasions as 
festivals, or at their common meals, the kings distri- 
bute, and to themselves last. They care for little, 
because they want but little ; and the reason is, a lit- 
tle contents them. In this they are sufficiently re- 
venged on us. If they are ignorant of our pleasures, 
they are also free from our pains. — We sweat and toil 
to live. Their pleasure feeds them ; I mean their 
hunting, tishing, and fowling ; and this table is spread 
every where. 

In sickness they are very impatient, and use strange 
remedies, such as stewing themselves in a close cabin 
with hot steam from water thrown on red hot stones, 
until the sweat pours down from them, and in this state 
they will plunge into brooks of coldest water. If they 
die, they bury them in their apparel, the nearest 
of kin throwing into the grave with them something- 
precious, as a token of their love ^ for dead or alive 
nothing is cared for by these people but love to and 
from their friends. They are very choice of the graves 
of their dead, and will sometimes go out of their way 
great distances to sit by them. 

These poor people are under a dark night in things 
of religion, at least the tradition ; yet they tirmly be- 
Heve in the Great Spirit or God, and the immortality 
of the soul ; for they say there is a great king who 



WILLIAM PENN. I73 

made them, who dwells in a bright country to the 
southward of them ; and that the souls of the good shall 
go thither where they shall live again. Their worship 
consists of two parts, sacrifice and cantico. Their 
SACRIFICE is their first fruits. The first and fullest 
buck they kill goes to the fire, where he is all burnt, 
with a mournful ditty of him who performeth the 
ceremony, but with such marvellous fervency and la- 
bour of body, that he will even sweat to a foam. The 
other part is their cantico, performed by round 
dances accompanied sometimes with words, sometimes 
songs, and then shouts, which are raised by two persons 
standing in the middle, who begin, and by singing and 
drumming on a board, direct the chorus. Their pos- 
tures in the dance are very antic and various, but all in 
exact measure. The whole is done with surprising 
earnestness and labour, and with strong expressions of 
joy. In the fall when the corn comes in, they begin 
to feast one another. There have been two great fes- 
tivals already, to which all who choose can come. I 
was at one myself. Their entertainment was by a 
large spring under some shady trees, and twenty fat 
bucks with hot cakes made of the meal of new corn 
and beans baked in leaves in the ashes. After dinner 
they fell to dance. All who go carry a small present in 
their kind of money ; it may be sixpence, made of the 
bone of a fish ; the black is with them as gold ; the 
white, silver ; they call it wampum. 

Their government is by kings, called sachems, who 
reign by succession ; but always of the mother's side. 
The children of him who is now king will not suc- 
ceed, but his brother by the same mother, or the sons 
of his sister, for no woman inherits. It is astonishing 
to see how piously and peaceably they all follow this 
ancient usage. 

Every king has his council, cons^.sting of all the old 
and wise men of the nation. Nothing of moment is un- 
dertaken, be it war, peace, or selling of land, without ad- 
p 2 



174 THE LIFE OF 

vising with them ; and which is more, with the young 
men too. It is admirable to consider how powerful 
the kings are, and yet how entirely the creatures of 
their people. And it is equally admirable to see the 
exquisite order and decorum that are always observed 
in their national councils. The king sits in the mid- 
dle of a half moon, formed by the old and wise men, 
his counsellors, on the right and left. Behind them 
sit the younger fry in the same half moon figure. Every 
thing being ready for business, the king beckons to one 
of his old men to speak, which he does, rising with 
much solemnity, and begging it to be kept in mind 
that it is not he, but the king who is speaking. While 
he is on the floor not a man among them, young or old, 
would be guilty of such rudeness as to whisper, smile, 
or move a foot, for the world. — Their speeches are 
short, but always vehement, and sometimes figurative 
and eloquent in the highest degree. And as to their 
natural sagacity and management of the business, espe- 
cially such as they are familiar with, he must be a wit 
who gets the advantage of them. 

As to the original of this extraordinary people, I can- 
not but believe they are of the Jewish race, I mean of 
the stock of the ten tribes so long lost; for the reasons 
following: — 

Firstly. The ten tribes were to go to a land " not 
planted nor known,'''' which certainly Asia, Africa, and 
Europe zuere. And God who pronounced that singu- 
lar judgment upon them, might make the way passa- 
ble to them as it is " not impossible in itself from the 
eastermost parts of Asia to the loesternmost parts of 
America. 

Secondly. I find the Indians of the like countenance 
with the Jews ; and their children of so lively resem- 



* The world laughed at William Penn for this bold conjecture. 
But captain Cooii, and later navigators, liave shown it to be verv 
practicable and probable. 



WILLIAM PENN. I75 

blance, that a man on looking at them, would think 
himself in duke's place, or Berry street, London. 

Thirdly. They agree with the Jews in many of their 
religions rites. 

Fourthly. They reckon time by Moons, like the 
Jew. 

Fifthly. They offer their Jlrst fruits, as the Jews do. 
Sixthly. They have a kind of feast of tabernacles, 
like them. 

Seventhly. They are said to lay their altar upon 
twelve stones. 

Eighthly. They have the same practice of mourning 
a year. 

Ninthly. They have the same delicate customs of 
women. 

Now all these things considered of them, and also 
taking into the account their many and grand cardinal 
virtues which they practise, such as, 

1st. Their noble readiness to forgive any injuries 
done them by one who was drunk, saying, " it was the 
drink and not the man who abused 'em." 

2d. Their exceeding hospitality to strangers. 
3d. Their never-ending esteem of those who only 
do them justice, (as in the case of William Penn.) 
4th. Their love stronger than death to their friends, 
5th. Their everlasting gratitude to benefactors. 
Now on a people possessing so distinct a knowledge 
of good and evil, O what immortal fruits might not be 
grafted by persons of a still brighter light and love 
coming among them ; not in vain words, preaching up 
notions and sacraments, but in their own brotherly 
tempers and actions, showing the divine beauty and 
blessedness of men " dwelling together in love " 



i76 THE LIFE OF 



CHAPTER XXI. 

William Penn had now been in his colony neartwn 
years ; and indeed, as is said, had serious thoughts of 
spending the rest of his days in it, with his family, 
whom he meant to send for. But alas, why should 
poor mortals talk of years to come, when the wisest 
among them cannot tell " what a day may bring forth .'" 
For while this most virtuous of men, like a good angel 
descended from heaven, was thus diligently and de- 
lightfully employed in ameliorating the physical and 
moral condition of the red and w-hite men of his great 
family, and to render his province the garden spot and 
glory of the earth, behold a ship arrived from England 
with packages of letters fi-om his best friends, recom- 
mending it to him by all means to return without loss 
of time. — They stated that he was every where posted 
as a " PAPIST^' and a " jesuit," and that too in such 
terms of execration that there was no telling how^ it 
might affect the government against him, even to the 
taking away of his charter and province. And still 
worse, (for indeed he smiled at such baseless fabrica- 
tions that affected only himself) the letters informed 
him of things infinitely more painful to his feelings, 
viz. that the persecutions against his poor friends, the 
quakers, had broken oat again, and with a malignity 
and fury far beyond any thing ever known before. 
The letters concluded with entreating that he would 
instantly return and use all his interest in their favour 
with the king, who, it was well known, was much his 
friend. 

The eflfect of these letters on him, was an imme- 
diate determination to return to England, as soon as 
possible : so having empowered his council to act in 
his place, and tilled up all the various offices and de- 
partments of government with the fittest men, he took 
his leave, exceedingly to the re2;ret of all, but of none 



WILLIAM PENN. 177 

more than of the Indians. To these poor people, the 
report that their " father Onas''' was going away to 
leave them, was matter of deep heart-sinking and sor- 
row. Having found out the day on which he was to 
depart, they came in betimes into the city, in great 
crowds both men and women, and all of them with 
some present in their hands for ^^ father Onas.'''' They 
followed him to the shore, like children crowding to 
the funeral of a beloved father, and in shaking hands 
with him, many of them shed tears. 

Immediately on his arrival in England, (October 
1684) he commenced his inquiries into the condition 
of the quakers,and the persecutions against fAe?n, which 
he found to be fully equal, in point of savage unfeel- 
ingness and barbarity, to the worst accounts he had 
received. I will detail a few of those cases, that our 
horror-struck readers, while they mark the blinding 
influence of an ancient priestcraft, and mourn the suf- 
ferings of its unfortunate victims, may raise their 
shouts of praise to God for the blessed time and coun- 
try in which they live : and also do their part, in the 
way of a good life^ to prevent disunion and civil war, 
which, by introducing a king and an established 
CHURCH, may revive those calamities upon our hap- 
less posterity. 

Extract of cruel persecutions of the poor quakers in 
England, in the days of king Charles 11. viz. 

" Only for attending a meeting in Leicestershire, 
four persons were sent to prison^ and their goods of 
various kinds, with beds, working tools, &c. taken 
from them to the amount of two hundred and thirty 
six pounds sterling, equal now to three thousand dol- 
lars ! ! In clearing the meeting-house on this occasion, 
not only men but women were dragged out, some by 
the heels, and others by the hair of their heads !" 

"In Nottinghamshire, James Nevil, Justice of the 
Peace, took from T. Samson, by warrant (on account 



178 THE LIFE OF 

of his attending two meetings^) nineteen head of cattle, 
and goods to the amount of sixty pounds sterling," 
equal now to seven or eight hundred dollars. 

" Tn the county of Norfolk, John Patterson had two 
hundred fat sheep taken from him, — equal to three 
hundred dollars. 

" Wilham Borbu of Norfolk, had cows, carts, a plough, 
harrows, and hay, taken from him to the amount of 
fifty pounds sterling. 

" William Brazier, a shoemaker at Cambridge, was 
fined by John Hunt, (Mayor) and John Spencer (Vice- 
chancellor,) twenty pounds, only for having a religious 
meeting in his own house." 

N. B. The officers who distrained for this sum, took 
his leather, his lasts, the seat he worked upon, wearing 
clothes, bed and bedding ! ! ! 

" In Somersetshire, F. Pawlet, Justice of the Peace, 
fined thirty-two persons only for being at a burial ! and 
seized for the fines, cows, corn, and other goods to the 
amount of eighty-two pounds sterling. No one appear- 
ing to buy the distrained cattle, the justice employed 
a person to buy them mfor himself! ! 

" In Berkshire, Thomas Curtis was fined three 
pounds fifteen shillings by Justice Craven, who order- 
ed his mare to be seized, which was worth seven 
pounds. Curtis put in an appeal against this proceed- 
ing, according to the act ; but it was thrown out. The 
ofHcers also offered the fine to Craven, but he would 
not take it ; but had the mare valued at 4/. and then 
kept her himself ! ! 

" In Cheshire, Justice Daniel took from T. Briggs 
the value of 116/. in corn, horses, and cattle ; the lat- 



use 



ter he kept and worked for his own 

" In the same county. Justice Manwaring took by 
warrant for fines which amounted to 87/. goods to the 
value of 101/. in cattle, bacon, brass, pewter, corn, cloth, 
shoes, and cheese. Some of the sufferers appealing, 
the Jury acquitted them ; but the Justices would not 



WILLIAM PENN. 179 

receive the verdict, and at the next sessions gave judg- 
ment for the informers^ with treble costs ! ! /" 

Scores of other cases equally shocking might be 
quoted ; but these are sufficient to show what man is 
capable of when under the dominion of bigotry and 
superstition ; and how easy a thing it is, for a selfish 
Priest to persuade a poor sinner, that if he but mutters 
a few prayers after him^ and kneels and sings as he di- 
rects, and gravely takes the Sacrament, he may fly like 
a wild Arab upon the most humble, and harmless, and 
industrious, and peaceable of his fellow creatures, and 
triumphantly carry off their carts and horses, and cows, 
and calves, and corn, and meal, thus breaking them up 
root and branch, and leaving their poor little children 
crying in vain to their mothers for their simple suppers 
of bread and milk. 

With a heart bleeding for such cruelties of man to- 
man, William Penn flew to the King, entreating him 
even with tears, that he would interpose his royal arm 
to the prevention of such hellish practices, dishonour- 
able to his reign and disgraceful to the most benevo- 
lent religion in the world — the Gospel, But to his 
equal astonishment and grief, all that he could obtain 
was " a sort of promise from the King, that he would 
do something in the matter,'''' But while he, Felix like, 
was waiting for that *' more convenient season,'''' to do 
the good work to which Wilham Penn so earnestly 
entreated him, hundreds of poor harmless and humble 
souls were suffering all the horrors of starving at home, 
or groaning in dungeons. But his time to act so in- 
human a part, and to abuse the high trust confided to 
him of God, was not long. In about a quarter of a 
year after this, as he sat down one Sunday morning 
to be shaved, he w^as suddenly seized with violent 
spasms, or twitchings of his head to both sides, when, 
uttering a fearful shriek, he fell down as dead, and so 
remained for three hours. His physician, at hand, bled 
him, and fearing to lose the time necessar)' to blister 



180 THE LIFE OF 

him by flies, ordered his head to be shaved, and pHed 
with red-hot frying pans. Being brought to his senses by 
such unheard of tortures, he showed himself humble 
as a whipped child — seemed deeply penitent — begged 
pardon of all, even the poorest he had ever wronged — 
prayed most fervently himself, and prayed that others 
would pray to God for him. And in this way he breath- 
ed on, till the following Saturday at noon, and then 
died — an av/fal lesson to the proud and great, how easy 
a thing it is for God to make such worms bow before 
him ! His throne had not time to get cold, before it 
was filled up by his brother the Duke of York, who, 
at three o'clock that same day, was proclaimed King 
James the second ! The reader will remember thai 
this was the same Duke of York, under whom, and 
next in command, William Penn's father had fought 
so gallantly against the Dutch fleet, in 1666 ; and who 
had sent word to that officer, on his death-bed, that he 
would be a friend to his son. And, indeed, in many 
respects he was as good as his word ; for like Herod 
towards the holy Baptist, he had a most exalted opi- 
nion of William Penn ; not only of his " rare honesty ^''^ 
but also of his " rich mind and acquirements ^^^ insomuch 
that he would often have William Penn with him, 
and allowed him such lengthy conversations as gave 
umbrage to his nobles, who, more than once, took the 
liberty to tell him, that when he zvas with Penn he for- 
got them.'''' 

Soon as decency would perm.it, William Penn 
waited upon his royal friend, with the grievous case 
of his poor aiHicted subjects the quakers. The King, 
with a smile, clapped his hand upon his shoulder, and 
said, " Friend William, don't make thyself uneasy on 
that score, for it is not my desire that peaceable peo- 
ple should be disturbed for their religion." Finding 
the King in such good humour, Penn put in a w^ord for 
his friend the celebrated John Locke, who it is known 
was almost if not altogether « quaker, and who had 



WILLIAM PENN. 181 

recently been deprived of his place and salary in the 
University of Oxford. '•''Well, William," replied the 
King, in the same gracious manner, ^'•for thy sake I do 
pardon John Locke, and thou may est so tell him from, 
we." Indeed so high did Penn stand in favour with the 
King, and so generally was this known, as also the ex- 
ceeding pleasure which he took in improving it to the 
relief of the oppressed, that he was always surrounded 
by applicants. His firmness in the case of the Duke 
of Hamilton, while it shows exactly the character of 
Penn, affords a striking proof what important services 
a benevolent and brave man may sometimes render to 
the injured. Learning that Robert Stewart, of Colt- 
ness, a very worthy Scotchman, had been obliged, 
through the religious persecutions of the times, to fly 
his country, and that his estate had been given to the 
Earl of Arran, afterwards the Duke of Hamilton, Wil- 
liam Penn called upon this nobleman, and with all the 
majesty of truth, thus gravely accosted him, — " Friend 
James, what is this I hear of thee ? thou hast taken pos- 
session of Robert Coltness's estate. Thou know est it t> 
not thiney The Duke, evidently self-condemned, but 
straining for an apology, replied, " Why, Mr» Penn, I 
received no other reward for my expensive and trou- 
blesome embassy to France, but this estate ; so that 
I am sure I am very much out of pocket by the bar* 
gain." 

" That maybe," returned the intrepid quaker, " but 
let me assure thee now, that if thou do not immediately 
send for Coltness, who is in town, and pay him 200/. 
to carry him on his journey, and also 100/. a year to 
subsist on till matters are adjusted, / will make it as 
many thousands out of thy way with the king.'''' 

The Duke was so struck with this manly pleading in 
favour of the injured, that he immediately sent for Colt- 
ness, and did by him exactly as Penn had advised. And 
behold I after the revolution which took place in some 
two or three vears subsequent to this date, poor Colt- 



182 THE LIFE OF 

nes3 (with the rest of the fugitives for their religion) 
was restored ; when the duke of Hamilton was obhged 
to return him not only his estate, but all the back 
rents, except the payments which he had made, as 
above, at the instance of William Penn. 

But to be the most successful friend and protector 
of injured individuals, even on the large scale that he i 
filled, seemed but a small thing to the boundless cha- 1 
ritj of Penn. Nay, to promote the tenderest love be- i 
tween his own followers the quakers, or between the j 
church and the quakers alone^ did not half satisfy him. I 
He longed to see that sweet spirit of the gospel shin- 
ing on the faces of all Christian societies towards each \ 
other, as the only thing that can ever bring glory upon 
the religion of Christ, and give it a universal spread \ 
among the nations. Hence his incessant and most ve- i 
hement labours with the king and government, if not ! 
to do away all established churches, yet to do away j 
all " religious tests, and all penal statutes, 3.ndjines, and 
confiscations, and imprisonments, and 'murders for reli- 
gion,^"* as being utterly anti-christian, and barbarous, 
and most fatal in their effects upon the tempers and i 
morals of society, destroying that which is the very end I 
of all Christ's preaching, that is, love, which can sel- ! 
dom grow in men's hearts towards others, when ago- i 
nizing under cruel treatment from them. 

" What signifies," says he, " all this pomp and show 
of religion ; these great cathedrals, and these ringings ; 
of bells, and noise of organs, with all this to do about j 
sacraments, and baptisms, and parade of so many | 
priests in their white robes and black ? What is the j 
end and design of all this, but, as these preachers them- 
selves will confess, to promote religion and brotherly 
love? But what chance is there that all this outward i 
noise and show of one sect, will promote the brotherly 
love of the rest, when their dearest rights (of religion) 
are not only denied them, but when they are robbed 
and ruined for only claiming them ! When the poor 



WILLIAM PENN. 18S 

presbyterian sees the rich churchman, {made rich too 
out of Ids spoils,) or when the half-starved cathohc seefs 
the fat protestant hishop rolHng by him in his coach 
and four, set up out of the fines on the poor cathohcs I 
Ah, how hardly can love grow there ! St. Paul would 
not '-'as long as the world stood, taste a peice ofmeat,''^ 
though honestly come by, from making and selling his 
own tents, "J/" it gave his weak brother offence ! /" 
There was a Christian bishop of the right sort ! But 
what sort of Christian bishop must he be who can 
consent to ride in his coach and four, with his reve- 
nues of thousands, when it tends to stir up deadly 
hate and to destroy immortal souls for whom Christ 
died ! 

And for these cruel penal laws and tests, are they to 
be found among the examples of Christ ? Did he " call 
down fire from heaven upon those who dissented from 
him?''"' Or, are they to be found any where in the 
genius and spirit of that blessed religion which is sum- 
med up in " doing unto others as you would they should 
do unto you .^" Ah ! who among us would like to be 
lying on the cold floor of a dungeon, with tears trick- 
ling down his cheeks, thinking of his poor wife and 
children starving at home, by Christian hands too ; 
and all because he could not worship God as did the 
bishop ! But indeed what common honesty is there in 
these penal laws and tests ? Suppose that for fear of 
having his cows and calves taken from his children, a 
man should consent to go and kneel and pray by rote 
after the priest whose cold formalities he despised, 
what would this but make a hypocrite of him; and thus, 
instead of a trophy to God, erect a monument to the 
devil! And even suppose that your brother should 
stout it out, and in spite of all your penal laws and 
tests, still stick to his conscience, what glory could 
you win in so infamous a contest with your poor bro- 
ther, as whether he should bear with most patience, 
or you inflict with most cruelty ? Oh shame f shame ! 



184 THE LIFE OF 

shame upon our profession as Christians ! Oh, when 
will come the time, the happy time that these prac- 
tices shall no more be mentioned among us as becometh 
saints ! nor indeed as becometh true patriots who know 
that the prosperity of their common country depends 
on the union of the citizens : and that again on their 
treating each other with such justice and kindness in 
all things that every man shall look on his neighbour 
as his brother, and by such union of fruitful loves and 
interests^ and not of barren /br/7i5 and opinions render 
old England the glory of the earth. 

The effect of this address, on king James and his 
council, was but little short of miraculous. A royal 
proclamation was issued, the week following, for a ge- 
neral pardon of " all 7vho were then in prison for con- 
science sake /" In consequence of this, twelve hundred 
quakers alone were restored to their families and bu- 
siness — many of whom had been in confinement for 
years ! also of the papists and other sects, hundreds 
upon hundreds were let loose to enjoy the sweet air 
and light of day, with all the countless blessings of 
liberty and dear society. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

The joy of Wilham Penn for such services to his 
fellow men must have been very great ; but they were 
somewhat dashed by certain wormwood advices, re- 
ceived at this time (1685,) from Pennsylvania. These 
advices turned upon the most unexpected and scanda- 
lous conduct of his colonists ; not indeed of any of his 
own society, the quakers j for of them he learned, with 
exceeding joy, that they continued the same indus- 
trious, orderly and peaceable citizens he left them : but 
that his beloved council, whom he had left to rule, 



WILLIAM PENN. 185 

had all fallen to discord and neglect of the public 
good — that many others preferred a life of sloth and 
extortion in town, to the independence and innocent 
delights of the country, were tilling his virgin city of 
Philadelphia with taverns ! — that even " the caves," 
were converted into tipling shops ! — that his survey- 
ors, fond of collations and gin, had spread their tables 
for such uses in his land offices, making the purchasers 
of lots pay the expense^ which in some cases amounted 
to one fourth of the prime cost of the lots, thus check- 
ing the sale of his land ; retarding the population of 
his province ; encouraging drunkenness and immorality, 
especially among his Indians ; and bringing infamy and 
ruin both upon himself and his colony — and to render 
such news the more painful, with all his anxiety to 
hasten to America, he actually had not the means — 
he could get no remittances of his quit rents, although 
five hundred pounds sterling a year were due to him 
for one million of acres which he had sold, (the 
low quit rents of one shilling the hundred acres,) 
for twenty thousand pounds sterling — these twenty 
thousand pounds had been laid out in presents to the 
Indians — in various purchases of lands — in aiding his 
poor followers — in setting up and maintaining his go- 
vernment and governor — besides, sixteen thousand 
pounds which he had given up to king Charles, barely 
for his good will — also six thousand pounds which he 
had spent on this philanthropic enterprise, making in 
all, as money now values, at least one half a million, 
of dollars ! which, with maintenance of his own large 
fomily — much hospitality — costs for travelling and 
preaching ; printing his numerous books, &;c. had kept 
him low, and confined him to England. And even 
there it does not appear that he was allowed much 
peace, owing chiefly to the most unlucky state of pub- 
lic affairs at that time, on account of James's turn to 
popery, and the nation's dread of the dismal times of 
bloody Mary. Hence if William Penn waited on the 
Q 2 



t86 THE LIFE OF 

king though but to beg, as usual, some kindness for the 
injured^ he was branded as a papist^ and Jesuit. If pe- 
titioners, for favours, crowded his own door, the sus- 
picious populace would have it, " all these people did 
not come to him for nothing /" of course a gun-powder 
i)lot or something worse was a brewing ; and both 
himself and his poor quakers were often insulted in 
the streets, and the windows of their houses broken. 
If he preached a sermon though never so much like 
that of Christ on the mount — conjuring his hearers to 
do nothing " to get praise of men f^ but every thing for 
tliij " glori/ of God^'^'' making his love and that of our 
neighbour, the sole end of our being ; he was sure to 
stir up a hornet's nest of angry hard-visaged puritans, 
reviling him as a false prophet who would make the 
** blood of Christ of none effect- — by mixing it with 
man^s good works. But, for the sake of poor human 
nature, let us drop the recital of such unamiable 
truths, and bring our history towards a close. My 
readers will not, I hope, be offended. We are all born 
for pleasure ; and the moment that pleasure ceases, 
the work we engaged in for pleasure ought to cease 
also. Writing a book should be like decanting wine 
for our friends ; we ought never to pay them so ill a 
compliment as to disgust them with the dregs. Let 
others spin out the history of an individual to three 
or four large volumes-, T, for my part, like the better 
example of the sacred biographers. These inspired 
penmen, in the life of any great personage they paint, 
whether it be good king Josiah or wicked king Ahab, 
after giving his characteristic features, and in colours 
never to fade, delicately add — " as for the rest of the 
acts of Josiah, are they not written in the book of the 
Chr&nicles of the kings of Israel P'^'^ So I must take the 
liberty to say to my readers concerning Penn ; " J 
have given them the history of a " polychrestus," 
i. e. a man of many virtues, the least of which have 
conferred immortality on saints of old -, a man meek as 



WILLIAM PENN. 187 

Moses ; pure as Joseph ; patient as Job ; intrepid as 
Paul ; and affectionate as St. John ; and who, by the 
same spirit that made him all this, has been made a 
blessing to millions, and his name, engraved on theii 
hearts in lines of moral beauty, never to be forgotten 
while goodness retains power to heave the throb of 
admiration and esteem — ^^ and as to the rest of the acts 
of William Penn, and what he did to break the power 
of antichrist, even religious persecutions j and to pull 
down the high places of priestcraft, that he might erect 
a pure spiritual worship for his God, are they not written 
in the hook of the chronicles of the people called Qua- 
kers, by Joseph Proud, and Thomas Clarkson^ and di- 
vers others?''"' 

But, passing by much of these thin histories of 
Penn, which, from this period,! 686, are little else than 
histories of the unceasing vexations which he suffer- 
ed, alternately, from pontifical persecution in England, 
and from the blunders of his own provincial governors 
in America. 

I will give my reader the few following facts of Wil- 
liam Penn, and which are the only ones in the life of 
this great good man, that I think he would take much 
interest in. 

Be it known unto thee, then, O most patient reader, 

in the first place, that William Penn still continued, 
(such is the charm of honesty !) to be a great favourite 
with king James ; and that he never once abused 
that favouritism to supplant rivals, or to fill his own 
house with gaudy carpets, and side-boards, but often 
improved it to the advantage of merit oppressed, and 
chiefly to promote religious toleration and love among 
Christians. 

2d. That the English nation, getting alarmed about 
king James, for saying his prayers to the Almighty in 
Latin, a tongue they did not understand, compelled 
him, in 1689, to give up the throne to his son-in-law, 



188 THE LIFE OF 

the Prince of Orange, alias king William, a stiff Pro- 
testant. 

3d. That this prince, though no persecutor in heart, 
yet put up to it by his great ones in church and state, 
revived what his more honest predecessor, although a 
papist, had put to sleep, i. e. the persecution of the poor 
quakers, which in his reign was carried to such scan- 
dalous lengths, that, " ^/' a quaker was seen on a horse 
worth five guineas or upwards^ (no matter whether 
fifty or five hundred) any man of the national church 
might, hij law ! order him to dismount and give up his 
horse !" ' 

4th. That king William, soon hurled by death from 
a throne which he had so disgraced, was succeeded by 
his consort queen Anne, whose Christian spirit, taking 
part, of course, with the oppressed quakers, quickly 
put a stop to measures so disgraceful to humanity. 

5th. That, in 1693, Wilham Penn was severed, by 
the consumption, from his wife Wilhelmina Maria ; of 
whose rare piety the reader will ask no better eulogy 
than the following — feeling the icy hand of death gain- 
ing fast on her vitals, she begged that her children might 
be brought to her bed side. — Then giving them the last 
tender embrace with a dying mother's blessing, she lifted 
her eyes, beaming with reverence and hope, and said, 
" Lord thou knozoest I never asked grandeur for my 
children but only godliness." After this solemn duty 
performed, she desired them to be taken out of her 
sight; then sinking on her husband's bosom, she calm 
ly breathed her last. 

6th. That, in 1696, William Penn was honoured in 
his own family with another glorious triumph of piety 
over mortality, in the case of his eldest son Springett 
Penn ; who in the article of dying, uttered shouts of 
victory over the grave, that drew tears of joy from 
every eye ; and sufficient to make those blush who 
think that the Father of Mercies can save none but 



WILLIAM PENN. 189 

those who sprinkle or plunge^ take the bread or the 
wafer exactly as they do. 

7th. That, in consequence of much disorder in 
Pennsylvania, occasioned by his governors and coun- 
cils, William Penn's charter was taken away by the 
king. 

8th. That his majesty, fully convinced of the blame- 
lessness of WilUam Penn in those matters, restored his 
charter. 

9th. That, in 1699, being stricken in years, and al 
most worn out with weighty cares and labours, Wil- 
liam Penn, with his family, went over to North Ameri- 
ca, to spend his last days in peace and in the improve- 
ment of his province. 

10th. That the following fact, almost the first after 
his landing, affords pleasing proof, that persecutions 
to those who " walk with God^'''' instead of serving like 
water to extinguish, only act like oil to kindle higher 
their godlike affections. " Being told of a large slip 
of choice lands lying on the Neshaminy, and not in- 
cluded in his first purchase, William Penn caused it to 
be inquired of the sachems, whether they would sell 
it to him. They replied that they did not wish to part 
with that piece of ground, the bones of their fathers 
and mothers lying there ; but still to please " their fa- 
ther Onus who was so good as to come to live with his 
red children again, they would sell him some of it. In 
short, they agreed to sell him as much land as could be 
walked around in one day by one of his own young men, 
beginning at the great river above Coaquanoc (Ken- 
sington,) and ending at the great river just below Kal- 
lapingo, (Bristol.) The Indians were to be paid, as 
usual, in British goods. The bargain being made, a 
young Englishman was pitched on, who having been 
much exercised in his own country as a pedestrian, 
made a walk that equally astonished and mortified 
the Indians, Observing that their looks when thej 



190 THE LIFE OF 

came to receive their pay, were not bright towards 
him as formerly, William Penn asked them the cause. 

They replied, that father Onuses young man had 
cheated them. 

Aye, how could that be, replied he, calmly ; was it 
not of your own choosing that the ground should be 
measured in this way ? 

True, returned the Indians, but the white brother 
made too big a walk! 

Here some of the commissioners getting warm, said 
that the bargain was a very fair one, and that the Indians 
ought to stand to it ; and that if they did not, they 
ought to be compelled. At this William Penn look- 
ing exceedingly shocked, replied, compelled! how are 
they to be compelled! Don't you see that this points 
to murder ! Then turning to the Indians with the kind 
liest smile on his countenance, he said. Well, if you 
tliink you have given too much land for the goods first 
agreed on, tell us now how much more will do ? At 
this they appeared greatly pleased, and said, if father 
Onas would give them so many more yards of cloth 
and fishing hooks, they would be well satisfied. Soon 
as the Indians, having received their goods and shaken 
hands with him, were gone away smiling and happy, 
Penn looking very significantly on his friends, and lift- 
ing his hands and eyes, exclaimed, O what a sweet 
and CHEAP thing is charity ! Here mention was made 
just now of compelling these poor creatures to stick to 
their bargain ; that is in plain English, to fight and kill 
them, and all about a little piece of land ! Don't you 
consider that the very rum which a regiment of sol- 
diers would drink, would cost twice as much as those 
few yards of poor cloth which we have given them ? 
and which has sent them away happy as Httle children, 
with their apples and cakes V 

O what is there in the universe that can so greaten 
the soul, and dispose it to every thing generous and 



WILLIAM PENN. 191 

godlike, as the simply sublime religion of Chnst ! 
For lack of the spirit of this most ennobling religion, 
several of his old enemies in England, sickening at his 
growing fame and fortunes in America, began to re- 
vive their former slanders, wherein they were so suc- 
cessful, that several of his best friends in England ad- 
vised him to return and defend himself. 

11th. I am sorry to add, that, yielding to the wishes 
of his friends, Penn embarked with his family in 1701, 
and bidding farewell to Pennsylvania, never to see it 
again, returned to England, where his presence, like a 
summer morning sun, quickly dispersed all the clouds 
which his enemies had gathered over him. 

12th. That from this period, 1712, though now near- 
ly threescore, he still enjoyed excellent health, which, 
as he had been wont from his youth, he continued to 
consecrate to the most delightful, because most useful 
purposes, such as writing masterly defences of the qua- 
ker construction of the gospel, which being, as he said, 
" intended for the ignormit^ must be simple ; not requir- 
ing great learning in the head^ but honesty in the heart, 
bravely to practice the arduous lessons of loving and doing 
good to all men^ Also constantly corresponding with 
his governors and councils, and all others of influence 
in his province, but particularly his own followers the 
quakers : conjuring them to keep in mind, " what an 
honour was done them of God, in placing them on a 
field of action, where they might do so much for his 
pleasure, in the world'^s good and their own temporal 
and eternal welfare ; to remember the divine philoso- 
phy of the Bible, that ' no man livethfor himself alone , 
but for all:'' and that he who, in all his dealings, tram- 
ples base self under foot, and acts justice and mercy 
to all, shall in the universal good find his particular 
and great reward.'' He begged them to remember 
too, that, though far retired beyond the sea, and in the 
wild woods of America, they were not beyond the eagle 
eye of malice, which was constantly watching the op- 



192 THE LIFE OP 

portunity, through any wrong act of theirs, to pounce 
down and bear them aloft to the world's scorn : and that 
now was the time to vindicate before the universe, the 
excellency of their faith ; and to demonstrate, that while 
pride, extravagance, and base flesh-pleasing of all sorts, 
tend to poverty, and desperation, and wars that pull 
down the greatest nations, the opposite virtues of justice 
and mercy, manifested in all the blessed fruits ot honest, 
industrious, and peaceable lives, will exalt the poorest 
families and nations to riches and honours." 

13th. I have now to add, in the thirteenth place, 
that while engaged in these divine labours with a zeal 
too great for his advanced age, (near 70,) he was sud- 
denly struck with two or three shocks of the apoplexy. 
This desirable messenger of mortality did not at once 
dissolve the ties between soul and body, but it left his 
memory and judgment so impaired, that he was never 
able afterwards to write or speak with his pristine 
perspicuity and vigour. But as a vessel early filled 
with choice wine, will, ever after it is empty, still re- 
fresh the sense with the precious odour of what it 
once contained, so the mind of Penn, though almost 
gone, still supported even to the last, the angel charac- 
ter which it had acted through life. 

As all men take such an interest in the sun as to feel 
a strong curiosity to look at him, though under an 
eclipse, even so, many will wish to see Penn, though 
■'in the last stage of nature's decay. The following is 
from the journal of a learned and pious friend, who 
frequently visited him. 

" In March, 1713, I was much with him at his own 
house, and always fovind him happy. And though he 
recollected a great number of his past actions, he was 
often at a loss for the names of persons. The finest 
sentiments, however, were often falling from his lips, 
rendering his company quite delightful, and abundantly 
proving, that his religious principles were founded on 
a rock that nothing could shake. 



WILLIAM PENN. r95 

"In 1714, his faculties were by no means altered for 
the worse. I accompanied him in his coach to meet- 
mg. He could speak but little, but what he did say 
was very affecting. Every eye seemed to press for- 
ward upon him with the deepest interest. He putn?e 
in mind of what we are told of the Evangelist John, 
who in his extreme age and feebleness, placed by his 
disciples in his pulpit, and able only to whisper, '' lit- 
tie children love one another,'^'' was yet listened to with 
a devotion, that none of his congregation would have 
exchanged for the eloquence of the world. 

"In 1715, towards the end, his memory became 
sensibly altered for the worse ; but his love of the 
Deity and his habitual rejoicings were the same ; as 
also the peculiar loTingness in his manner of receiving 
and parting from his friends. 

"In 1716, I went to see him, taking with me ano- 
ther friend of his acquaintance. He manifested great 
joy at seeing us ; and although he could not recollect 
our names, his conversation proved that he knew u« 
perfectly well. He was then in a state of great weak- 
ness both of body and mind, but still exhibited all the 
endearing sensibilities of the most affectionate spirri^ 
which, happy in itself, thought of nothing but to make 
others so. Hence I could never look at him without 
^ncying I saw personified in him, all those brilliant 
adornings which Solomon gives to his honoured " Wis- 
i>OM," with crowns of glory onher head^ and chains of 
gold around her neck. For while worldly-minded old 
men, suddenly stopped in their career by sickness, and 
no longer able to bustle and vapour, are low spirited, 
silent and sad ; William Penn, on the contrary, was a 
perfect model of the most enviable serenity. He ap- 
peared to me like a soldier, who, after a long life of 
brilliant victories for his sovereign, and disabled 
through age for further duties, has now his armour 
thrown aside, and given himself up to welcome repose ; 
out still ever smiling, at thought of what he has done, 
R 



194 THE LIFE OP 

and of the reward that awaits him. Yes, such is the 
divinity of virtue like his, that I never looked on Wil- 
liam Penn without feeling an affectionate reverence 
that I lack words to express. I shall never forget how 
I felt, when at our taking leave of him, he said — my love 
is wilhyou. May the Lord take care of you ; and remem- 
ber that I am hound to you by a friendship that is eter- 
nal, 

"In 1717 J visited him again, and for the last tmie 
His mind was so entirely gone, that he could not re- 
collect me one instant ; and his body so feeble, that he 
could not walk a step without support ; and even his 
speech, now reduced to a whisper, was hardly intelligi- 
ble. But still he was William Penn. I shed tears as 
I looked at him ; but they were tears of joy to think 
what he had been ; and my tears rose to rapture, when 
I remembered, as he tottered, that he tottered at the 

THRESHOLD OF HeAVEN." 

Thus, after a gradual decay of six years, without 
suffering any of those pangs that often embitter the 
close of human life, his vital spark silently went out ; 
and on the 30th of May, 1718, his happy spirit ex- 
changed its coarse tenement of clay for that glorious 
body not made with hands^ eternal in the heavens.''"' 
His hallowed ashes slept at Jordan, in the county 
of Buckingham, by the side of his first wife and many 
of his family. 

Such was the end of a man whose life was a long 
exercise of patience and submission to the will of Hea- 
ven ; who, by the faith of Christ, was enabled to over- 
come the vices of flesh and blood, and all the enemies 
of human nature ; and to demonstrate a truth loo little 
known, that to escape the miseries of life, man has but 
to conquer himself; and that to enjoy all its pleasures^ 
he has but to obey the laws of God, and resolutely 
maintain an unwounded conscience. 

Such were the achievements of Vv^illiam Penn, who 
had the rare wisdom to improve nobility of birth with 



WILLIAM PENN. 195 

the majesty of the virtues ; and to sacrifice the illu- 
sions of false grandeur to the solid charnms of moral 
feeling and of real goodness — humble in prosperity, 
superior in adversity, and sublimed to all the great- 
ness of benevolence, he smiled on insult, and found a 
godlike satisfaction in forgiving injuries. He tram- 
pled under foot all the allurements of the senses, that 
he might labour unceasingly for the benefit of suffering 
humanity, and establish in the new world, as he had 
always wished, " a government founded on the pure 
principles of the gospel ^ a worship most simple, yet 
most sublime ; a morality pure as that of angels ; a 
toleration universal ; laws perfectly equal ; magistrates 
more anxious to prevent crimes than to punish them ; 
thence, a country filling up with a new and vast popu- 
lation — cities springing up out of the wilderness — a 
people fond of peace, and enjoying it in the happy sim- 
plicity of patriarchal manners — abounding in the fruits 
of the earth — blessed with a flourishing trade — ho- 
noured by the sister colonies — beloved by the neigh- 
bouring savages, and under the sacred canopy of in- 
nocence and harmony, enjoying the sweetest calm, 
undisturbed by discord, and unstained by a drop of 
human blood. Such were, during the days of William 
Penn, and such during the rule of his quaker succes- 
sors, even 70 y'ears, have been the influences of the 
pure religion of Christ, whose sublime sweetness has 
rendered this people so happy, because it has for its 
object to adore the one true God ; to love all men 
without distinction ; never to harm any ; and to fly, 
as monsters of nature, those persecuting homicides, 
who, in the name of the God of peace, can murder 
their fellow men only that they may plunder them. 



196 THE LIFE OP 



CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN, 

By Dr. Marsillac, Deputy Extraordinary from the Qiui 
kers in France, to the National Assembly^ 1791. 

*' After so many acts of violence and oppression, so 
many robberies and murders committed by the Eu- 
ropeans in the new world, the heart finds some con- 
solation in pausing over the part which William Penn 
acted there. In an age when savage Europe put to 
death so many innocent people merely because they 
could not embrace the faith of their sovereigns ; and 
spread over so large a part of America those horrors 
of fire and sword at which nature revolts, William 
Penn, like an angel from heaven, presented the olive 
branch to those afflicted people, and by acts of godlike 
justice, not only restored tranquillity to their ravaged 
.quarters, but laid the foundation of extensive liberty 
«nd happiness. He was perhaps the first who ever 
built one of the fairest empires of the world, on the 
sole basis of general good ; and by assuring universal 
toleration and community of rights, offered a happy 
asylum to persecuted innocence throughout the earth. 

" There are but few sections of the American con- 
tinent that have not been drenched with human blood ; 
and to their eternal shame, it was the enlightened and 
polished Europeans who did this ; and who murdered 
by thousands, the poor harmless natives, who received 
them with hospitality ! and then, to extenuate their 
guilt, they branded those as savages, whom they had 
so barbarously slaughtered. The arrival of William 
Penn put a stop to those frightful enormities. His god- 
like humanity to these oppressed people ; treating 
them as brothers, buying their lands and heaping them 
with favours, melted their simple natures with grati- 
tude and affection. Astonished to see a white man who 
was good, and who abhorred injustice and bloodshed, 



WILLIAM PENN. }9T 

they revered him as something more than man, and 
gloried in calling him "father." 

*' Of all the Europeans who have mitigated the ills 
of Hfe and the fury of religious persecution, Williani 
Peun most deserves the gratitude of posterity. His 
first act in America held up a lovely presage of the 
prosperity that was to follow. And in his unyielding 
efforts to shield the oppressed, he looks like Moses, 
followed by a host of religious friends, whom he con- 
ducted across the wilderness of waves, to a new " land 
of promise ^"^"^ flovdng with the milk and honey of free- 
dom, peace and plenty. 

" Abhorring persecution, as the direst reproach and 
scourge of mankind, he resolved effectually to bar the 
door against it. Hence that sublime charter of his, 
guaranteeing the most perfect liberty of conscience, 
to all the honest worshippers of God, no matter what 
their opinions and forms. Instantly crowds of persons, 
oppressed in their own country because of rehgion, 
embarked for the country of William Penn. Then 
shone forth that divine philosophy, " love thy neigh- 
bour AS thyself," in the blessed fruits resulting from 
it. For, while among the antichrists of Europe, the 
Popes and Bishops, nothing was heard but cries and 
groans from the inquisitions and dungeons ; nothing 
talked of but sales of property belonging to heretics 
and dissenters ; nothing seen but marks of deadly hate, 
between the oppressing and the oppressed churches, 
in good William Penn's country, glory to God, you met 
with no spectacles of this sort ; but on the contrary, 
every thing to sparkle the eye of charity with plea- 
sure — there you saw worshippers of an hundred differ- 
ent sects, moving along the streets to their several 
churches, in the most perfect peace and harmony — 
there, whether Jews or Christians, Catholics or Pro- 
testants, all adored God in the way they thought most 
rational ; and meeting with no persecution themselves, 
they felt no temptation to persecute others. Every 
R 2 



98 THE LIFE OP 

poor emigrant to Pennsylvania, was welcomed as an 
exile from his native land ; and having neither coun- 
try nor family of his own, he found in William Penn a 
tender and generous father. This most virtuous of 
men, was the honoured instrument of blessings to thou- 
sands of the unfortunate ; and his institutions have laid 
the imperishable foundations of a new empire, which 
shines like a star in the west, and whose rays have al- 
ready begun to open the eyes of Europe. 

"Having held the reins of government no longer 
/than was necessary for the good of his province, he 
mixed among his people, as only one of their number ; 
and despising, on the one hand, all the pomps of the 
falsely great, and filling up life, on the other, with the 
most beneficent labours, he came to the grave in a good 
©Id age, eulogized by the greatest philosophers, ho- 
(Boured above the proudest kings ; and to this day re- 
vered by the Indians, as a benevolent spirit, sent down 
from heaven to establish the reign of peace and hap* 
piness on the earth," 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

** Power may command awe ; wisdom may excite 
admiration; but it is ( 
captivate our hearts. 



admiration; but it is goodness alone that can 

11 



No man, perhaps, has ever had the honour, by a sin- 
gle act of his life, to confer such an obligation on man- 
kind as William Penn has done by his treaty with the 
Indians. The greatest philosophers of the civilized 
world, no matter what their country, or what their 
religious opinions, have never ceased to gaze on it 
with an enthusiasm that shows the immortal charms 
which justice holds in the eyes of all men. And we 



WILLIAM PENN. 199 

should fill a volume were we to transcribe only one 
half of all the handsome eulogies that have been pro- 
nounced on it. But if this famous treaty has appeared 
so lovely in the eyes of all good men, who only beheld it 
as a distant star that shone on other times and people, 
then how must it have appeared to those people them- 
selves, who beheld it near at hand as their own sun in 
all his full-orbed glory ; at once delighting their eyes 
with its beauties, and showering on their heads its de- 
licious fruits ? Indeed the blessed fruits of this treaty 
both on the red and white men, are sufficient to con- 
vince us that he who created man in his own likeness, 
has implanted in him certain noble springs of action, 
which may be far more advantageously wrought by 
justice and mercy, than by fraud and violence. And 
these springs, glory be to God, are implanted in all 
men, the wildest not excepted ; as hath been seen in 
Penn's memorable treaty, wherein it would seem as 
though God, in order to show the " universality of his 
grace,'^'' had purposely called that heavenly-spirited 
man to the exceeding honour of demonstrating it, in 
the face of the whole world, by his extraordinary ex- 
periments on those North American Indians, generally 
thought the most lawless and savage of the human 
race. Indeed, from the unparalleled fierceness with 
which they carried on their wars, and the long and 
painful marches which they would make to surprise 
their enemies, and the lingering and cruel deaths which 
they inflicted on their wretched captives, many have 
doubted whether, as Charles II. said, the grace of God 
had ever appeared to them. At any rate it appears that 
the Europeans treated them as though they were 
beasts in human shape, and even worse; for while 
they would show kindness to a dog to win his friend- 
ship, they treated the Indians as if they thought that 
nothing but powder and ball could ever manage such 
cannibals, This was the line of march pursued by all 
the first English settlers in this country. Take that 



500 THE LIFE OF 

case which, having happened in Virginia, is best kno\\i; 
to us, I mean the English colony settled at old James- 
town, in 1607. When this devoted company sailed up 
James river, it appears that they never once dreamt 
of setting foot on shore until they should first have 
discovered some snug little peninsula which might 
easily he defended against the murderous natives. Af- 
ter much slow sailing and sharp looking out, they hap- 
pened to light on just such a spot ! Then thanking God 
as for a most lucky discovery, they landed their muni- 
tions of war, and heaving up a tremendous ditch, co- 
vered it over with their cannon with mouths of hideous 
red and black, threatening destruction to the " hlood- 
thirsty savages.'''' The next thing they did was to build 
a church. But this was only another fort in disguise, 
with loop-holes all around ; and while one half of the 
congregation, pale and quaking, were praying very 
devoutly^ the other half, more bold, with their guns 
poked out at the loop-hoies v.ere drawing their sights 
towards the dark woods^ as if they momently expected 
a host of brindled savages to burst out upon them. 

Now, why had they all this fear and precaution, but 
because their hearts were not right towards these poor 
people. They who m.editate injuries against others 
are always suspicious and fearful. These false Chris- 
tians had an evil eye upon the country to make it their 
own; heiice, feeling themselves enemies to the natives, 
they felt that the natives were enemies to them. All 
this was but honest instinct ; or the voice of God him- 
self, in their guilty consciences prophesying evil con- 
cerning them. And so it turned out ; for, by making 
the above forcible lodgment in their country, and in- 
vading their hunting grouads, they virtually hurled de- 
fiance into the teeth of the natives. Powhatan, the old 
king of the country, and his people all felt it as such ; 
and SHYNESS, and hate, and fear, with all manner 
of ill offices, quickly appeared on both sides. If the 
Christians went out to trade v^'ith the Indians though 



WILLIAM PENN. 201 

but for a little corn, they always carried their muskets 
with them, and kept their matches lighted ready for 
battle. If they invited the Indians on board their shipa, 
to dine with them, it was only to seize some royal 
hostage that might serve to keep their subjects from 
fighting them. If the Indian kings sent them a supper 
of barbacued venison and roasting ears, it was that 
tthey might take advantage of them while eating, and 
mingle their blood with their dishes. If an Indian ap- 
proached their fort, though but to sell a raccoon, he 
•was not suifered to enter until he had undergone a 
Etrict search both of his greasy bear-skin coat and 
mocassins, for fear the " bloody wretch^'''' had some 
weapon or other about him to kill the good Christians 
withal. And so true is that voice which saith — " the un- 
godly are in fear where no fear is,^'' that the English, 
even at nooji day, still acted with as much circumspec- 
tion as though tliey continually felt themselves in the 
country of an implacable enemy. And at night, so great 
was their dread of the Indians, that even in James- 
town they did not think of going to sleep until fully 
satisfied that every street and lane was well guarded 
by the soldiers, all ready to fire at a moment's warning. 
And even then it was no easy matter to fall into a 
doze, though easy enough to be started out of it, as 
they often were, by a frightened fancy, dreaming of 
the savages and their bloody tomahawks. If an En- 
glishman ventured outside of the fort, he was way-laid 
and murdered even in broad day, if the Indian who 
fell in with him had but the strength to do it. And, 
indeed, so deadly was the hate of the Indians against 
the Christians, for wronging them out of their lands 
and driving them from the bones of their fathers, that 
they never lost sight of revenge. And ten years after- 
wards, while the English, suspecting no harm, were 
ploughing the soil which they had so unjustly acquired 
(the Indians took them by surprise, and with their own 
hoes and axes, in one (atal hour, murdered near four 



202 THE LIFE OP 

hundred of these poor wretches ; minghng, in many in- 
stances, the blood of the innocent children with that 
of their guilty parents. 

See there, O horror-struck reader, see there the 
RELL which was introduced into Virginia by following 
the selftsh policy of this poor blind world. But to raise 
our spirits from the depression occasioned by such hor- 
rible scenes, let us turn to Pennsylvania and con- 
template that HEAVEN which is created among men 
who act up to the just and benevolent spirit of the 
gospel. And if we wish to see an angel in human 
shape, let us look at William Penn among the savages 
of North America — let us look at him as, with a coun- 
tenance shining with the heavenliest charity, and a 
voice of music, he salutes them as drothers — honours 
them as the proprietors of the country given unto them 
of the " GREAT SPIRIT,'' and expresses a modest petition 
that they would give unto him, their brother from be- 
yond the Big water, a portion of their land in exchange 
for GOOD THINGS which the " great spirit" had given 
to him. Ye narrow bigots who can think that Christ 
has no sheep but those of your own fold, look at these 
Indians in the wilds of North America, and say whe- 
ther eyes, thus bright with the admiration of eternal 
justice, and faces glowing with such affection for the 
honest stranger, do not bespeak the operation of that 
spirit who is "710 respecter of persons, but in every na- 
tion, and to every soul of man, imparts grace suficient 
for salvation.'''' And as that grace never displayed 
itself in smiles of more undissembled love, than in the 
countenances of these uneducated heathens, so never 
did it bring forth richer fruits of " peace and good 
WILL," than were manifested in all the intercourse be- 
tween them and William Penn. 

Captain John Smith, after that he had invaded their 
rights in Virginia^ was fain to seek his safety in his 
soldiers, and cannon, and stockade forts, and loop- 
hole churches. But honest Wiiliain Penn saved all 



WILLIAM PENN. 203 

Ihat expense^ and proved in the face of the w^iole 
world, that a Philadelphia (a city of brotherly love) 
needs no soldiers nor cannon to defend it. — Captain 
Smith and his freebooters in James-town, could not 
sleep without their sentinels and guards constantly 
around them. Honest William Penn and his quakers, 
in their infant Philadelphia, though surrounded by 
thousands of savages, slept sweetly even without bars 
and bolts to their doors ! At James-town, an Indian 
was never suiFered to come in without strict search. 
At Philadelphia the Indians came in and out, just as 
familiarly as the large dogs in a tanner's yard, to which, 
if need was, they were a ready defence. In Virginia, 
Captain John Smith could not get a grain of corn for 
his starving colony at James-town, without pushing up 
the rivers in his boats, often at the risk of life from 
the arrows of the Indians, who were so desirous to 
drive these invaders out of their country, that they 
held back their provisions, whereby numbers of the 
little colony (ojily one hundred and twenty at first) 
were actually starved to death. But in Pennsylvania, 
in consequence of the godlike justice and humanity of 
William Penn, the hearts and souls of the Indians were 
so strongly knit to him like children to a father, as in- 
deed they called him, that they brought him in pro- 
visions in such quantities as abundantly to supply his 
followers the quakers, near three thousand in num- 
ber. And if any of these were so poor that they could 
not buy at the low prices set, they would give to them 
for nothing, as to the poor children of '-'- their father 
Onas^'*'' as they called William Penn ! Yes, and they 
would both show and assist them to make bark huts 
against the winter; and also freely and lovingly olfcr 
their services to unload their ships and bear their goods 
to their huts and houses. Captain Smith himself, only 
taking a solitary walk along the shore near James- 
town, was suddenly attacked by a single Indian, and 
but for superior address would certainly have bou 



204 THE LIFE OF 

slain in spite of the broad-sword by his side. But ho- 
nest William Penn, or any of his quakers, with only 
his broad-brimmed beaver, and staff in his hand, might 
have walked throughout the country, not only in safe- 
ty 7. but even thronged by the Indians, eagerly running 
to shake hands, caUing him brother! brother! and 
carrying him with joy to their cabins to feast him on 
the best provisions they had. Captain Smith and the 
Indians were always in " hot water,'''' and often in 
bloody warSy^ which never ended but in the extermina- 
tion of the latter^ But honest William Penn and the 
Indians lived so perfectly in the spirit of brothers,, 
that during all th« time that he and his followers, the 
FRIENDS, had the rule in Pennsylvania, even seventy 
years, there was never known one single instance of 
murder. Captain Smith's city, (old James-town) built 
on violence and blood, is now swept from the face of 
the earth ; scarcely a broken tomb-stone remainmg 
to tell where it stood. But William Penn's city, Phi 
ladelphia, estabhshed in justice and brotherly kindness 
though founded a long time after the other, has grown 
up to be the glory of this western world — with lovel} 
streets, extending from the Delaware to the Schuyl- 
kill, and noble wharves, warehouses, work-shops^ 
arsenals, bridges, markets, aqueducts, hospitals, dis- 
pensaries, alms-houses, museums, academies, colleges, 
universities, and churches, with other buildings public 
and private, to an exceeding amount, both in number 
arid elegance, and filled up with a crowded popula 
tion of between one and two hundred thousand souls. 
Indeed no man can cast his eyes over this beauteous 
city, covering as it does, for many a mile, the lovely 
plains of silver-flooded Delaware and the winding 
Schuylkill — with its thousands of red shining edifices, 
and stately domes, and towering spires, without ex- 
claiming, as did the prophet when from the tops of 
Pisgah he beheld the plains of Jericho covered over 
with the chosen seed, '' Jiom goodly are thy tents, 



WILLIAM PENN. 205 

Jacob J and thy tabernacles^ O Israel ! Happy art they 
who are in such a state j yea, blessed are the people who 
have the Lord for their God^ 

O when will mankind learn that " God is love" — 
that his plan embraces the happiness of all ; and that 
none but those who seek their own consistently with 
the good of others, shall ever find it ? 



S06 THE LIFE OF 



CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN, 



FROM EDMUND BURKE. 

" William Penn, as a legislator, deserves great ho- 
nour among all mankind. He created a commonwealth^ 
which, from a few hundreds of indigent refugees, have 
in seventy years grown to a numerous and flourishing, 
people. A people who, from a wilderness, have brought 
their territory to a state of high cultivation ; filled it 
with wealthy and populous towns ; and who, in the 
midst of a fierce and lawless race of men have pre- 
served themselves, with unarmed hands, by the rules 
of JUSTICE and moderation, better than any other 
have done by policy and arms. The way in which he 
did this, deserves eternal notice. Though brought up, 
as it were, in the corrupt courts of Charles the Second^ 
who had endeavoured to carry the kingly prerogative 
to as high a pitch of aristocracy as possible, yet — O 
glorious ! O all subduing power of religion ! when he 
got Ihat^ he thought of nothing but to make every body 
happy. To take the lands from the Indians, he ab- 
horred ; he bought their lands. — To exact and starve 
the poor who followed him across the ocean for con- 
science and quiet sake, he could not brook. He put 
the lands at the low rate of forty shillings a hundred 
acres, and one shilling per hundred acres yearly quit 
rent. 

" But what crowned all, was the noble charter of 
privileges by which he made them more free, perhaps, 
than any people on earth; and which, by securing both 
civil and religious liberty, caused the eyes of the op- 
pressed from all parts of the world to look to his coun- 
try for relief. This one act of godlike wisdom and 



WILLIAM PENN. 207 

goodness has settled Penn's country in a more strong 
and permanent manner than the wisest regulations 
could have done on any other plan. A man has but 
to believe that there is a God ; that he is the inspec- 
tor of our actions, and the future rewarder and pun- 
isher of our good and ill, and he is not only tolerated, 
but, if possessed of talents and integrity, is on the road 
to place. 

" This great and good man lived to see an extensive 
country rescued from the v^ilderness and filled with a 
free and flourishing people — he lived to lay the foun- 
dation of a splendid and wealthy city — he lived to see 
it promise every thing, from the situation which he 
himself had chosen, and from the encouragement which 
he himself had given it — he lived to see all this — but 
he died in the Fleet prison ! 

" Tis pleasing to do honour to those great men 
whose virtues and generosity have contributed to the 
peopling of the earth, and to the freedom and happi- 
ness of mankind — who have preferred the interest of 
a remote posterity, and times unknown, to their own 
fortune, and to the quiet and security of their own 
lives. Now, both Britain and America reap great be- 
nefit from his labours and his losses. And his posterity 
have a vast estate out of the quit rents of that very 
province, whose establishment was the ruin of their 
predecessor's fortune." 






MONTESQUIEU, ON PENN. 

A character so extraordinary in the institutions of 
Greece, has shown itself lately in the dregs and cor- 
ruption of modern times. A very honest legislator 



508 LIFE OP WILLIAM PENN. 

has formed a people, to whom probity seems as na- 
tural as bravery to the Spartans. William Penn is a 
real Lycurgus : and though the former made peace 
his principal aim, as the latter did war, yet they re- 
semble one another in the singular way of living to 
which they reduced their people — in the ascendant 
they gained over freemen, in the prejudices they 
overcame, and in the passions which they subdued. 



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